


The Scholar and The Warrior

by Reinedesglacesalavanille



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:36:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinedesglacesalavanille/pseuds/Reinedesglacesalavanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Trevelyan has lived in a Circle almost all her life. Becoming the Herald of Andraste is a challenge she wasn't ready for. She will need Blackwall's help to overcome her difficulties. MAJOR SPOILERS. Of course there will be romance, and more. The story gets darker as Blackwall's story arc is revealed. </p><p>New chapter (21) on July 22, 2015<br/>Special thanks to thievinghippo for beta-reading this chapter!<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, everything here belongs to Bioware, except for Catherine  
> Please feel free to comment.

Catherine never thought she would be so relieved to see Haven again. Even with the Breach adding an end-of-the-world look to the scenery. Her small company was returning from their second mission in the Hinterland and she never had so many doubts about her role in all this mess.

After all, Lady Trevelyan was a scholar more used to debate over theoretical subjects and scurry around libraries than running around in the wild with a bunch of well-trained warriors and doing actual battle with her magical talents. She soon discovered that being the Herald of Andraste implied less heralding and more of the aforementioned than she previously thought.

  
And the Maker knows how much she wasn’t prepared for it. Well, she was proficient enough in magic to keep face during battle but, used to the comfort of the Circle and more inclined to exercise her mind than her body, she was in no shape to keep up with her companions.

So, after three weeks of constant walking, running, battling and horse-riding, Lady Trevelyan was sore from head to toes and her body longed for a long, undisturbed sleep in a feathered bed. Her mind would need more to find its peace. She could have coped with a broken ego; Lady Trevelyan had never been the athletic sort but was confident in her other strengths. But she was well-aware that her lack in physical prowess had endangered her mission and the lives of her companions.

The last rift they tried to close confirmed her fears. The demons they encountered were stronger than anything they had met before and her company couldn’t allow her safe passage to the rift opening so she could use her mark on it. Lady Cassandra ordered a retreat. A fast-paced retreat through the shallow waters of a slimy-rocked riverbed, going around or above logs and stumps, and up a hill WHILE escaping screeching demons and spirits, and keeping some strength to get on that damned horse (why are these beasts so high!), ideally without help.

Of course, her companions saw her distress and protected her the best they could. And helped her get atop that hill. Especially this Grey Warden, Blackwall’s the name, who stayed near her all the time, offering a helping hand, taking a blow meant for her... She blushed at the thought but didn’t know if it was of shame or something else.

There was a part of shame, that’s for sure. Blackwall had made an impression on her at first sight. His manly physique, his blue steel eyes and, Andraste have mercy on her, his quite epic beard made her blood boil. But, well, she kept those thoughts for herself and made sure to show a cool demeanor. She was a scholar after all, and a noble, and wouldn’t act like some wanton peasant girl.

And she would certainly not lose face. So after the quite plump Herald of Andraste had been seen by Blackwall red-faced, sweaty and out of breath, and after he, while injured, had to push her up her horse so they could briefly depart, any idea of making advances on him was abandoned. She would keep the conversation purely professional, when necessary. And in other circumstances avoid him at all cost.

Her strategy seemed to work well during their travel back at Haven. But guilt soon replaced her shame. Her bruised ego and, she confessed herself, feelings, weren’t the man’s fault. Maker, he wasn’t even aware of it and surely thought of her as another high-nosed noble. Maker's balls, she would have to confront – no, thank him, he had saved her life after all.

So, after a nice bath and change of clothes, she gathered all her courage and walked down to the building outside Haven’s walls that served has a stable as well as a forge. That was also where the Warden was last seen.

And there he was, leaning nonchalantly against the building wall...

“Serah Blackwall, may I have a word?” Said Lady Trevelyan in a tone she wanted friendly, but came out rather inquisitive.

“Of course, my lady. How may I be of service?”

The lady Herald had almost forgotten the effect the man’s gruff voice had on her. She knew it would be hard to get her message through before melting.


	2. Chapter 2

“I just wanted to make sure you found your accommodations suitable, Warden Blackwall.”

“More than suitable, my lady. I am flattered to see that you concern yourself with my comfort.”

Catherine felt the slight sarcasm in Blackwall’s voice when he answered her question. That was fair, she had ignored him in the last few weeks, or at least feigned to. Answering with a short smile and a tilt of the head, she pursued her civil conversation.

“According to my counsellors, the treaties you provided us will prove themselves greatly useful to gather more resources and men to our cause. And I didn’t fail to mention your skills in battle.”

Behind them, the Breach seemed to stir and started humming in low tones. Both turned toward it and bathed in the sickly green light.

They remained silent for a few moments, contemplating the nauseating maelstrom of doom above their heads.

"Do not worry, Warden. The Breach have ceased its expansion, but it is still following a cycle of high and low activity." lectured Catherine. Even if our first attempt at closing it was not entirely successful, it has at least stabilized the area."  
It was Blackwall that finally broke the silence.

“Maker, look at it. So much easier to ignore when it’s far away. And to actually walk out of it, to be that close...”

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes fell to the ground. Once, her feat would have elicited pleasurable pride in her. Wasn’t physically entering the Fade considered impossible? She could have started her own field of study and gained respect amongst her peers. But now, knowing how much death this disaster had brought, atop the war already raging on, her “exploit” left a bitter taste in her mouth. She spoke in a softer voice, almost a whisper.

“I was lucky to make it out of there alive. And to be rescued by the Inquisition.”  
Blackwall seemed to weight her words carefully.

“One question, then, my lady? Where do you think you fit in all this?”

Well, there was it. Lady Trevelyan could weave Blackwall a fancy tale about being the Herald. It was expected of her, anyway. But she had come to him to thank him and didn’t feel inclined to lie. Without leaving her eyes from the ground, she told him:

“I do not know, Serah Blackwall. I have no memories of my passage in the Fade, only the Mark on my hand. And the knowledge that it is a tool, maybe our only tool, to stop this madness.” She waved her hand and sighted, glancing at him briefly. “The Inquisition thinks that I was Chosen. I hope not, for it would make me doubt the Maker’s judgement.” She lifted her eyes into his, pleading. “I think you witnessed that I was not quite prepared for what has been asked from me. I am aware that I did put your life in danger.” She looked away, unable to sustain his gaze. “And I was meaning to thank you for saving mine.”

Blackwall chuckled. Catherine looked at him with a forced smile, one eyebrow raised. Was the man making fun of her?

“My lady. Do not judge yourself so harshly. Your troops are devoted to you and believe you are the Herald of Andraste. You give them hope, when there was none. And fighting demons falling from the sky... Maybe you weren’t prepared for this, but show me someone who his.” And he added, kindly: “You have shown courage, my lady, and I am glad to have fought by your side. I hope you will allow me to defend you again.”

Wow. Lady Trevelyan was not expecting that answer. The man seemed... sincere. She hoped that the hot flash she was experiencing didn’t color her cheeks.

“Of course, Warden Blackwall. I will keep you informed on our next mission schedule.” She was about to take her leave when an impromptu idea came to her mind. “Serah, I was informed that you offered your help to train new recruits, am I correct?”

“You are correct, my lady.”

“I am no warrior, Serah, nor I want to be, but the nature of my appointed task requires me to be more ... fit. Also, since we are susceptible to encounter rogues templars who can nullify my magical abilities, a basic training in self-defense would be appropriate. Finally,” she raised a finger to mark her point, “since I could be separated from the group in the wilderness, I would also require basic survival skills, which I don’t actually possess.”  
Lady Trevelyan couldn’t quite read the expression on Blackwalls face. Was her request making him uncomfortable?

“Well, Serah Blackwall, this is a rather personal request. I cannot force you to oblige.” She paused. “As you mentioned earlier, I have a certain image to maintain with the troops... The state in which you saw me during our last encounter with demons is not quite consistent with this image. So I would prefer to keep my training... discrete. But if you don’t find this request appropriate, I will for ask an alternative to Commander Cullen.”

“No, my lady, it would be an honor. Come tomorrow morning, at dawn.” Blackwall eyed the Herald from head to toes. “I would recommend more appropriate clothes.”

“Of course.” Did the man thought her stupid enough to train in velvet robes? “Thank you, Warden Blackwall, I am looking forward our next meeting.”

With a contained smile and a small head bow, Lady Trevelyan left for her cabin inside Haven’s walls. Her heart was racing. Her improvisation was either a fabulous or a disastrous idea. Maybe a good night sleep would tell.


	3. Chapter 3

Thom has always had a love-hate relationship with noble women. He hated the way they flaunted their superiority and treated everyone they deemed of lower station like scum. The way they took everything for granted. And their love for the damned Game.

But he had never been able to immune himself from the charm and grace of an educated, well-spoken lady. Especially if this lady was agreeable to the eyes. Even now, when he vowed to make himself a better man, to quash the pride that lead him to his fall and to renounce his love of riches and comfort, he couldn’t resist coming back to his old habits. For all the decorum he could give his fake persona, he was, after all, a feeble man and a coward.

Once, he would have seen the woman as a prize to conquest, a trophy to mount and to show until a prettier, fresher one caught his attention. Blackwall, as he now referred himself to, felt his stomach churn in disgust at the rising memories of his former self. Today, that she deigned to converse with him was a grace he felt unworthy of.

Before their meeting, he had heard of the Herald of Andraste, chosen by the Maker to purge chaos out of this world. Blackwall was surprised to find that she was also a mage. And a noble. Judging by the quality of her robes fabric, even in a circle, where one’s birth status is not supposed to be taken into consideration, some individuals were more equal than others.

When they met, the adrenaline rush caused by the battle made him bold enough to ask her to join her cause. Joining the Inquisition _was_ a more proficient way to help the helpless and make the world better and, if the Maker allows it, to become a better man than staying isolated in the woods. The opportunity to walk alongside a rejuvenating and pretty young lady just made the choice easier.

Voluptuous, fair-skinned and her hands soft when he took them to help her get on her feet after a fall, the poor lass seemed out of place on the battlefield. She was an impressive mage but it was obvious that she had seldom been outside her Circle. Blackwall tried to stay near her and protect her at his best, and silently thanked the Maker that she had enough heart not to faint at the sight of the horrors expelled by the rifts she closed.

Between battles, and after she had questioned him on the Grey Wardens, he felt like he had become invisible to the lady’s eyes. Well, he was far from his former glory as an orlesian captain, and his uncouth appearance was enough to rebuff any self-respected lady, but he had hoped for at least a smile to thank him for the blows he took for her.

But it was better, simpler this way. Because even if he sometimes fancied the thought of receiving affection from her, Blackwall new that it should never be allowed to happen, for he had swore to protect her from all demons and monsters, and his soul was the lair of the darkest of them. 

And now, in a strange twist of the fate, she was asking him to train her, discreetly, and he accepted. The vulnerability in her eyes and her voice eroded his resolve.  The Maker was cruel indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

_La nuit porte conseil_ , as they said in Orlesian. Catherine had asked the guard that was appointed outside her cabin door to wake her before dawn. She had not been able to fall asleep until past midnight, replaying in her head the conversation she had had with the warden. Maker, she should be worried about the hole in the sky, not infatuating herself with a man she barely knew.

And now, after her too short sleep, it was clear that she had acted impulsively. Well, it was true that she needed to prepare herself before her next run in the wild, but she should have asked Lady Cassandra instead. It would have appeared more appropriate.

  
Lady Trevelyan knew she had put herself in a delicate situation. _I would prefer to keep my training discrete_. That implied that she would be alone with him, for a prolonged period of time. What has she been thinking! But it was too late to step back without looking like a brainless hen.

A quick look in the mirror revealed the effects of her lack of sleep. A delicate touch of makeup, a purposely neglected ponytail and the ingestion of two cups of strong _café_ and she was ready to slip into the training tunic and breeches she had snitched from the armory.

Outside her cabin, Lady Trevelyan demanded the guard to escort her, fearing the empty streets of early morning. As promised, Blackwall was waiting near the forge. Ok, Catherine told herself, let’s play along.

“Thank you, Louis”, Lady Trevelyan told the guard. “You can return to your post.”

The guard saluted the Herald and obliged.

“Good morning, Serah Blackwall.”

“Good morning, Lady Herald. I see you haven’t changed your mind about your training.”

“Of course not. And I want to reassure you that I will listen to your counsel. I trained many young mages in applied magic. I also have also had many _charges de cours_ in the last few years and know how much it is insufferable to teach to arrogant know-all.”

Blackwall crossed his arms and smiled.

“I mean no insult, my Lady, but you seem young to be a teacher.”

“Serah Blackwall, you are a flatterer”, replied Lady Trevelyan. “I am not _that_ young. And yes, in the last few years, I taught written and oral Orlesian in Ostwick Circle, Orlais history in Starkhaven, and trained young mages before their Harrowing.”  
Blackwall pause, a slight frown crossing his face.

“So, you seem to know much about Orlais, my lady”.

“Indeed, althought I did not have many occasions to travel there until recently. Before I was chosen to represent Ostwick Circle at the conclave, I was appointed on the Ostwick’s deleguation at the annual Val Royeaux magic convention. Needless to say that the convention was canceled due to exceptional circumstances. I then had the chance to shortly visit the city with the Inquisition.” She took a short pause and went on. “I have learned Orlesian as a child from my grandmother. That branch of my family is of Orlesian descent, but with the passing generations our accent differed considerably from that of metropolitain Orlais.”

Catherine knew that she was rambling and talking too much about herself.

“And you, Serah Blackwall, from your accent, I can see that you are also from the Free Marches. Kirkwall, perhaps?”

“No, Markham, my lady. Travelled to Orlais when I came of age.”

“And in what circumstances did you join the Grey Wardens, Serah?”

  
Why did she had to ask this question? Catherine was curious about the man, but she have read where most of the Grey Wardens are recruited. In prison. At the gallows. And if in some areas of Thedas, a noble could condemn a man of lower station to death for stealing a loaf of bread, elsewhere only aggravated murder could lead you there. A darkness clouded Blackwalls face.

“I am sorry, Serah, I did not what to pry. Maybe we should focus at the task at hand.”

“Indeed, Lady Herald.” Blackwall seemed relieved. “The first thing I am going to teach you is to run.”

Catherine laughed. But Blackwall remained serious.

“That sounds a little bit... cowardly, Serah. When I asked you to teach me how to defend myself, I was thinking more about using a sword and a shield. Or, at least, daggers.”

“That won’t be the case”.

With those five words, Blackwall had crushed Catherine short-lived dream of becoming a part-time shield-maiden.

“We have a few days, maybe a few weeks, before you go back in the field. You will face demons and soldiers who have trained all their life. If your magic is available, you are a fierce enemy, but even then you need someone to protect your flank. Without it, you will be crushed. And I can’t teach you in a few days what the templars took years to master. So, if we become overwhelmed and I can no longer protect you, I will need you to run. Do you understand?”

Catherine let his words sink in. He was asking her to leave him and their companions to die and save herself, if the situation becomes dire. She felt her heart tighten in her chest.

“I understand, but I don’t know if I will be able to do what you are asking.” She said with sad eyes.

“You said, my lady, that you believe yourself to be the only tool to stop this madness” said Blackwall, pointing at the Breach. “Keeping you alive is all that counts.”

This was logical, and utilitarian, thought Catherine. She was only a tool after all. The man didn’t have other reason to value her life more than his. But being blunt about it hurt her more than she would have anticipated.

“Well, then, Serah Blackwall, tell me what to do.”

“First, run to the bridge, and come back walking. Don’t begin too fast, we want to build endurance first.”

“And after?”

“You will repeat it as long as I don’t tell you to stop.”

_Well_ , Catherine thought, _the man’s good looks is probably the only thing refraining me from zapping his ass with lightning right now._

And she ran.


	5. Chapter 5

As the weeks went by, all things seemed to grow and take shape around them. Their small company now included a powerful mage from the high spheres of orlesian society, a qunari mercenary and a quite funny rogue archer named Sera. Under her silly girlishness and sometimes incoherent babbling, Sera understood people as well as the finest players of the Game. She also shared Blackwall’s love for dirty jokes, good beer and... women. It felt good, after all these years, to be able to laugh without guilt, with someone who didn’t have any expectations. And she had her own past too, though not nearly as grim as his. He accepted her as she was, a good friend.

The only thing he kept to himself was his increasing feelings for the Herald. He had been drawn to the woman as soon as they met, but he now realised that he had lured himself to an idealized image he created of her. After spending much time with the Herald, he began to see her small faults and mannerisms, and they made him like her more. Deeper and more real. And the way she changed her demeanor when she saw people suffer, whispering kind words and comforting with small gestures, showed her kind heart.

She was now more at ease on the battlefield. Blackwall had the Herald work on her stealth and rapidity so she would be less a target. Once, a rogue bandit had been able to get near her, almost under his nose. Lady Trevelyan had been able to deal with him, but not without the rogue inflicting some damage. Blackwall’s heart missed a beat when he saw her sleeve covered with her blood. He felt his vision narrowing and his chest tighten, and nothing mattered more that leading the lady to safety.

The Herald reassured him that it was only a superficial cut but Blackwall wouldn’t ear a thing. Later, Sera joked that he looked more livid and panicked than _her gracious Ladybits_ and started teasing him about his deference toward the woman (well, not exactly in those words). Blackwall gave her a stern look and dryly told her to drop the issue.

They were back in the Hinterlands now, and it was getting late in the small Inquisition camp. Blackwall was leaving the fire and going to his own tent when he heard giggling. It came from the other side, and Blackwall thought he recognised the Herald’s laugh, and Sera’s. The scene was surreal: those where the last two he thought would be hanging together. His curiosity urged him to go near.

“Shite, you’re kidding me!” said Sera in a not-so-subtle whisper.

“No, there really is a cavern under Ostwick Circle where Tranquils holds a clandestine bar. We call it “The Cavern”. I was there every weekend. Some renowned bards started their career there.” 

There was a silence. Then Catherine started to laugh. 

“You are full of rubbish, _Ladybits_. Andraste’s tits, I’m sure you never been drunk once in your life.” 

“Well, I did taste wine a couple of times, _for real_. Alcohol is forbidden in every Circle, but there is always some contraband. But, well, when you are a mage, there are risks in losing control of your head, and I am not the kind to take pointless risks.”

“Yikes, I forget that you are a mage. And a noble. You can talk shitty-woble-noble like if you want but you are not so up-buttoned that you seem. 

"Well, that’s true, I guess. You see, I was young when I went to Circle. Ten years old, and I was the only noble in my class. That made me different, and the other students really disliked me. It was a nightmare for me the first years, the time it took me to learn how to blend in. I learned to get lose a little bit, even to swear. Would you like me to teach you how to swear in Free Marcher’s Orlesian?”

 _Maker’s Balls_ , thought Blackwall. _I don’t want to hear that!_

“Hey, Sera, I think I heard something outside.” 

“Stay here, _Ladybits_ , I am going to take a look. 

Blackwall was trying to escape on tiptoes, but Sera’s eyes were keen, even in the darkness. She lowered her bow and hissed under her breath. Blackwall stopped and understood that she wanted him to come back. She coughed when he turned his back on her. Andraste’s tits, the woman was about to reveal him! 

So, with a scorn, he obeyed her. She gestured him to remain silent. 

“I think it was a skunk, that’s why I didn’t shoot, we would have smelled like shite for a week. Beuaarghh. ” 

Blackwall heard Sera throwing herself on the cushions. 

“It could have been effective to keep bandits away for while.” Catherine said with a smile in her voice. 

“Yes, and _Beardy_ would not be all over his head when he sees you with a scratch.” 

Catherine chuckled. _Damned, Sera, what are you doing there?_ thought Blackwall. 

“What do you think of him, _Beardy_ , I mean? He’s got some cute ass, no?” 

“Well, *ahem*, he surely is good-looking. And competent. And I will understand if you find him charming.” Catherine paused. “I see that he likes to spend time with you, outside of work. And he makes you laugh and you make him laugh. Do you like him?” 

“Of course I like him but... er... not like that, because of, you know, parts... Too many parts, and beard, and bits...”

There was a silence, broken by Catherine surprised voice.

“Oooh. I see. Does he know?” 

“Of course he knows, stupid. You’re the only one who didn’t see it. You’re better at reading books than people, _Ladybits_.” Sera laughed. “I am a good reader, of people, not books. What I see is that he likes you, and you like him.” 

“No-no-no-no-no, said Catherine, “that can’t be. All our conversations have been very formal, very professional, yes he protects me but that’s only because of what I represent. And he is so much polite and chivalrous and...” 

“Stop it. There. The man can curse like a sailor and tells the dirtiest joke _ever_. What I say is that he is not all perfect, and that you are not all perfect. But you are both good. So stop pretending and tell him how you feel.” 

There was a long silence during which Blackwall held his breath. _Maker, they will be the death of me_. 

 “I will... consider it carefully, Sera. But please tell me that it is not a joke you’re trying to pull on me. It would... hurt.” 

“A joke? No, it wouldn’t be funny. And I only do jokes that are not funny to pricks who deserve it. You deserve to have fun. And bits.” 

“Okay then, but give me time.” 

_Oh, Sera, what have you done._


	6. Chapter 6

Catherine woke up the next morning with a light heart. She smiled recapitulating her conversation with Sera. Could it be really true that the Warden liked her? She never had much luck with affairs of the heart and her old self would have discarded the issue. But many changes had occurred in her since she was propelled at the head of the Inquisition and she now longed to let her emotions roam freely. 

This was ironic, since her responsibilities never were so high and her situation and that of all Thedas never seemed so dire. It was today that she was supposed to go with a small delegation to Redcliffe in order to negotiate with the rebel mages. Of course, Blackwall would be accompanying her, as always. 

She had asked him, on the eve, about his opinion on her decision. He told her that he expected her, as a mage, to side with her own kind. Catherine didn’t want anyone in the Inquisition to think that her affiliation clouded her judgement, so she answered clear and loud: 

“Serah Blackwall, yes I am a mage but I am now pledged to the Inquisition, so I try to address the situation in a neutral way. Our goal is not only to close the Breach but to make Thedas a better, more liveable world both for mages and non-mages, and people of all origins, affiliation and status. Both the templars and the mages have the means to help us with our first objective. But for the second, we need to work with the most open-minded and reasonable side.” 

“So”, said Blackwall, “you think mages are more reasonable than templars?” 

“In general, no. People are people. But my conclusion is that the reasonable and open-minded templars are already walking with us. Those who thought that one of the biggest city of Thedas, with tens of thousands of civilians, men, women and children, was not worth their protection, do not appear to me as reasonable. As for the mages, the ones who bring chaos roam the wilds in an anarchic way. The mages of Redcliffe seem to keep to themselves and to be organised. I can at least give them the benefit of the doubt concerning their intentions. And, yes, enchanter Fiona has the reputation of being a reasonable woman, so the choice of siding with the mages appeared to me as the logical one.” 

“My lady, I trust your judgement, you do not have to justify your decisions to me. I will follow you no matter where you lead us, because I know that you would never chose a path foolhardily or with your personal interests in mind. Or one that leads to cruelty or unnecessary sacrifice. You are not like that.” 

“You put much faith in me.” said Catherine. “I hope to live up to it.”

This had of course happened early that day, hours before Sera and the Herald had their much less serious talk. Today, with the state her brain was in, Lady Trevelyan didn’t think she would be able to articulate her thoughts as efficiently. But she still wanted to find an excuse to talk with the man.

“Good morning, Serah Blackwall. Our scouts reported that we could face some trouble on the road to Redcliffe. I will keep my staff at hand, but would you mind to stay near me during our travel?” 

“Of course not, my lady, it is my duty to ensure your safety.” 

“Well, I am lucky, Serah, for I am probably protected by the most gallant knight in the Inquisition.” 

“I am no knight, my lady. A simple soldier.” 

“No? I find it surprising. Well, I don’t know much about you, Blackwall. Care to share a little bit of yourself?” 

“My life would seem boring comparing to yours, my lady. I was nothing before I joined the Grey Warden, they gave me purpose, as you do right now.” 

“Well, I still find you oddly charming for a man I found wandering in the forest.” 

“I always found myself more odd than charming. But I’ll take a compliment from a lady, they’re hard to come by these days.”

Catherine thought her legs would give up under her. Maker, was he playing along with her? She had to find something clever to say.

“ _Compliments, or ladies_?” 

Blackwall chuckled. “Both. So is there something...”

They were interrupted by a scout that informed them of an important battle down the road to Redcliffe. Refugees were stranded between two fronts. The Herald rallied her companions and ordered all available soldiers to join her in battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battle was almost over when the Inquisition forces arrived. It was difficult to determine the winning side, amidst all the dead and the dying and the gore scattered on the battlefield. Many didn’t wore robes nor armor and had probably been civilians. There were also many children, their small bodies broken and bloody. 

Catherine ordered her troops to detain the remaining combatants, treat the wounded, care for the refugees and to bury the bodies to prevent any pestilence or attracting uncanny monsters in the region. She then asked scout Harding to send crows to Redcliffe to postpone the scheduled meeting to the following day. 

That evening, Blackwall saw Catherine kneeling near the fire, her hair disheveled, sobbing. He put his hands on her shoulder and tried to whisper kind words. 

“It wasn’t your fault, my lady. Many men and women owe their lives to you after today.” 

This only made her crying intensify.

 “I know, Blackwall, that it wasn’t my fault. I cry because I saw innocent die, children who should have live full lives now buried without anyone left to cry for them. And I am a leader, I should have been able to go on my mission after all this, but I couldn’t, and I don’t even know if I will be able to do it tomorrow. And I know that I will have to steel myself if I want to be able to continue this, but I don't know if I can.”

Blackwall felt his heart break. He couldn’t leave her without comfort, so he kneeled beside her and cradled her in his arms. She didn’t make any attempt to get free from his embrace and slowly calmed herself. When the sobbing stopped, she asked to herself, in a barely audible whisper: 

“How can you witness all those horrors, and go on with your duty as if nothing happened, without losing yourself?”

Blackwall remained silent, but deep down he knew the answer. _You can’t_.


	7. Chapter 7

After Blackwall escorted an all-apologetic Herald to her tent, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for her breakdown. He had weeks to prepare her for the field. He hadn’t been lenient on her physical training. _Maker_ , he even ordered her to carry bags full of sand around Haven’s fortifications.  But the disgraced captain knew that she wasn’t prepared mentally for what was to come.

Before today’s battle, they encountered many demons and monsters, as well as small groups of fighting mages and templars, but they had been somewhat sheltered from the full-fledged horror of civil war. Blackwall knew the Herald wasn’t completely naive about those things; she said to be learned in Orlais history, an especially bloody one. But reading it in books was different from seeing it first hand.

How could he have overlooked this? Was it because she was a mage and not a soldier holding a sword? Or was it because he wishfully thought to keep her mind unspoiled by the ways of war? Whatever the reason, he hoped that she would be able to recover.

The next morning, Sera came to him looking quite angry and swearing incoherently.

“What is it, Sera?” 

“I just saw a whole crate full of fine Orlesian chocolate in our camp supplies but they wouldn’t give me any because Josie oh-so-prim is sending them to _allies_. “

Blackwall was relieved: Sera didn’t seem to be aware of last evening’s events. 

“Ah, why chocolates when you can give them a two-fingered salute and a box full of dog shit?” 

Sera laughed so hard that it made her snort. She looked up, past Blackwall’s right shoulder. 

“Oh, Hi _Ladybits_. What’s up, up there?

Blackwall turned to face the Herald. She was already on her horse, shoulders straight, and her eyes giving only small hints of her tiredness. Did she hear him say _that_? 

“I apologize, my lady, I didn’t notice you where here.”

The Herald seemed amused.

“Nothing to apologize for, Blackwall. I find the advice you gave Sera appropriate, but I would reserve it for our enemies on the battlefield, not our allies.” 

“Appropriate?” There was a hint of playfulness in Blackwall’s voice. 

“Of course. She is an archer. During the Hundred Years War between Orlais and Ferelden, it is said that Orlesians did cut the first two fingers of every enemy archer they captured so that they never could use a bow again. So, in battle, the Fereldan archers gave the Orlesians the two fingers salute in order to insult them. For an archer, using the two fingers salute on a battlefield is a nice allusion to Thedas history.”

She smiled soflty, her eyes fixed on Blackwall’s, still veiled with a sadness that was slowly lifting and telling him unspoken words: _I’ll be alright_. 

“But I didn’t come to give you a history lesson. We are leaving for Redcliffe in half an hour. Please get prepared and join me as soon as possible.” She paused and looked at Sera. “And I promise you, Sera, that I will get you a box of chocolate when we come back, but only if you share. And please don’t send dog shit to our allies. See you later, you two.”

She smiled again, turned her horse around and was gone.

“She’s babbling her usual crap but her acting is all weird... Something happened between you, but I can’t see if it went well or not” said Sera thoughtfully. 

“Leave it be, Sera, please. The Herald already has already enough on her mind without burdening herself with an old man like me.”

Sera threw an interrogative glance at him.

“Tell me you did not reject her.” 

“Sera, just LEAVE. IT. BE.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The travel to Redcliffe was calmer that the day before. They encountered no living thing except for chirping birds, rabbits and the occasional deer. And, fortunately, no dead things either. 

“If our meeting goes well, we could come back to hunt some game here, what would you say?” Catherine asked Blackwall. 

“Well”, answered the warrior. “It’s hard to imagine you developing a taste for hunting, my lady.” Blackwall said with humor. 

“I must admit that I am somewhat fed up of military rations. Eating some real food would be a nice change.”

Blackwall remembered that when they were in Haven, she had asked him to teach her how to survive in the wild. Of course, before becoming the Herald of Andraste, she never went out of the Circle’s compound for more than an afternoon walk, and the woods near the Circle tower were secure, constantly being patrolled by templars. Her only knowledge about hunting came from the books she had read. 

So Blackwall took her to the woods near Haven, one late afternoon. He had thought that a lady of her status would have been reluctant to accompany him, a man she barely knew. It was quite the contrary: she was as eager as a child to whom candy had been promised. 

“Hunting? Does it mean that you will teach me how to use a bow?” There was excitement in her voice.

“Why use a bow if you can use your magic? You will only have to be subtle about it, in order not to get caught.”

The Herald seemed disappointed. On their way, she kept a reflexive appearance, probably elaborating effective ways to do her task. 

A fat rabbit crossed the road before them. She quickly immobilized it in a static cage. 

“Tada!” She said in a sing-song voice. 

“It isn’t dead.” answered Blackwall, unimpressed.

Catherine paused.

“If I have to learn how to _kill_ things, could I practice it on something less... cute?” 

“It’s not practice. It is our next meal.”

Catherine sighed with disdain.  She approached the poor terrified animal and hit it with a spark between its two eyes. The rabbit died instantly.

“Fast, humane, and the meat hasn’t been spoiled. Now tell me that you don’t expect me to skin it too?” 

“Skin it and gut it, _my lady_. Here, take this knife. I have others, consider it a gift.” 

“Oh, thank you, how romantic.” Catherine said with a sarcastic tone he didn’t knew her able of. 

“I only do what you asked me, my lady. Teaching you _basic survival skills_.” He was now rivaling her irritated tone.

She smirked at him and started her chore. It was her first time preparing small game, and it seemed to take forever but she didn’t ask him for any help, as proud as she was. From where Blackwall stood, he could hear the lady swearing under her breath.

When she finished her task, Blackwall told her:

“Good. Now, my lady, make a fire.” 

“We seem to have a problem here, Serah Blackwall.” said Catherine, the sarcasm in her voice now hiding her shame. “I am a Storm Mage. I can handle some Ice magic and a little bit of healing and make quite strong barriers but, without the appropriate staff, I can’t even light a candle. So, the only way I could start a fire with my magic would be to repeatedly hit a pile of wood with lightning and hope it comes ablaze.” 

“Were you lost in the wilderness, that would also alert every templar in the area.” Blackwall sighed. “I will have to teach you how to do it the old fashion way. Let’s gather some dry wood.”

Finally, that evening ended well. Blackwall and Catherine sat side by side near the fire, sharing their meal under the stars. Few words were spoken and fewer glances exchanged. When Catherine had finished, she remained surprisingly silent, staring at the fire with a slight smile, her fingers mindlessly playing on the carved hilt of the knife Blackwall gave her. Stroking small birds and flowers he had inflicted on the wood one lonely night while she was haunting his mind _._

_My gift to you, my lady_.


	8. Chapter 8

_Maker, no! This can’t be happening!_

Blackwall felt all hope drained from him when he saw the Herald getting sucked into the void, which closed instantly after her. They had willingly walked into a trap, acting on intelligence given by shady sources, or so he esteemed.  Paralyzed, he felt Sera’s hand grapping his arm and pulling him toward the exit of Redcliffe’s throne room. Before he could take another breath, the rift opened again, expulsing an unarmed Herald and their Tevinter ally.

Lady Trevelyan scanned the room and expressed relief when their gaze met, her lips forming his name in silence. She then turned her attention to Alexius, her tone cold and controlled. The woman didn’t cease to amaze him. Once her dealings with the fallen magister were done and her encounter with the Fereldan royals closed, Blackwall realised that she was a natural born leader and could act as regally as any queen. She was also merciful, accepting to take the rebel mages under the Inquisition protection, as allies, despite their dealings with the Tevinters. 

When it was all over, she gathered their companions for a private meeting. She and Dorian explained their strange journey in a dark future that they had, for now, prevented from happening. Their description remained technical but Blackwall sensed that, from the way Lady Trevelyan looked at him with furtive glances, there was more to the story to be told. 

The Herald asked scout Harding to send crows to sister Leliana back at Haven and adjourned the meeting. Blackwall stayed. 

“My lady. May I have a word?” 

“Yes, Blackwall, please. Let’s go somewhere private.” she said in a strained voice. 

They found a small alcove in the throne room where they could discuss undisturbed. Lady Trevelyan stared at the wall, stoic. It was Blackwall who broke the silence, his voice soft and low: 

“My lady, you had me quite worried when you disappeared in the void. And you are worrying me now, with your silence. Please tell me what is troubling you.”

She took a deep breath and started explaining, her voice broken.

“As I said in the meeting, you were here, in the dark future. With Sera, and Leliana.” 

She stopped, her gaze still lingering on the wall. Blackwall spoke: 

“I have to ask, what was I like in that dark future you saw?” 

She turned to face him, tears now forming in her eyes and sobs in her voice. 

” You... you had suffered much but you found the strength to fight, with honor. And you sacrificed your life... for me. I saw you _die_. As a hero.” 

It was Blackwall’s turn to look away. He said, almost to himself: 

“Then I was worth something in the end.” 

Lady Trevelyan gave a pained look to Blackwall. In an unexpected gesture, she took both is gloved hands and brought them chest-high, holding them tight. 

“How can you say something like this? Can’t you see your worth?” she said, in hushed whispers. 

Blackwall froze. The Maker knows how much he would have wanted to let it go at this moment. Tell her how he felt. He had held her in his arms, a fortnight ago, to console her. But now, he was afraid of what could happen. And he couldn’t lead her there, he wasn’t worth her. _Murderer. Traitor. Monster_. How could he stop this now without hurting her more? 

Her brought her hands to his lips and laid a chaste kiss on them. He told her, in a soft voice: 

“My lady, don’t worry for me. We both had a hard day. We have averted a catastrophe and got the allies we came here for. Let’s just go back to camp and take some rest.” 

He slowly liberated his hands from hers. She wiped a tear on her cheek and regained a more formal stance. 

“I am sorry, Serah. It seems that I have to learn to control my emotions better. I hope that my behavior will not diminish your opinion of me.” 

Blackwall felt her words like a dagger in the heart. 

“The admiration I have for you will never fade, my lady. You have proven yourself to be a great leader today. You just need some rest. Come.” 

He backed is words with a small bow of the head and a hand gesture. Lady Trevelyan obliged, walking slightly in front of him at a calculated pace, her face displaying a stern look. 

After he had escorted her to her tent, Blackwall went to find Sera. It is her who found him. 

“There you are, Beardy. What happened with _Ladybits_?” 

“The day’s been hard on her. She’s in her tent. I think she needs a friend.” 

“So why are you not with her?” said Sera angrily. 

“Sera, please. Don’t ask questions. Just go see her. Please? And please don’t play the matchmaker again.” he couldn’t hide the pain in his voice. 

“Aaaarrrghh. Okay, okay. I will not leave her alone after this shite. You two are giving me a headache!” 

“Thank you, Sera.” Blackwall left her rapidly before she could change her mind. 

Blackwall then went to his own tent. He was used to pain, both physical and emotional, and had developed many ways over the years to dull it. But tonight, all he could do was lie on his cot, motionless, his heart busting. He knew that, in order to protect the Herald, he had to keep her near and keep her far at the same time. And that being constantly thorn between the two would, one day, erode his resolve.


	9. Chapter 9

The gamble they made by recruiting the mages of Redcliffe had paid off. The Breach had been closed and now only a faint scar remained in the sky, reminiscent of the one on the Herald’s hand. The time was now one of celebration, one night of well-deserved respite. 

The Herald had come to him, that night. She asked forgiveness for her behavior  - _Maker, if someone had to beg for forgiveness, it is me, not her-_ and told him that she would try not to do anything that would put him at unease. She told him that she didn’t want to ignore him as she had done before, out of pride, that she had too much respect for him and that he had done too much for her to do that. 

Blackwall saw the turmoil beneath her restrain.  Restrain inflicted by her noble upbringings, a masquerade to hide her feelings. How matter how we pretend to deny it, thought Blackwall, when afflicted by fear or pain, one always reverted to olds habits. This was also his case: he should have had the courage to cut her off definitely, to banish his pitiful existence from her life, but he didn’t. Maybe he could use her nobility to his advantage and offer her at least something to put a balm on her hurt feelings, until another, someone better, caught her attention. _The splendor of lost hearts_. 

“My lady, there is nothing to forgive. I am flattered by the attention you give me, and I do enjoy your company. But I am afraid that our difference in station does not allow us for more.” 

“What? Are you serious?” Catherine paused, bringing her right hand to her temple. “Blackwall, I may be noble by birth, but when my magical abilities manifested themselves, I lost all the face value that it had conferred me. Since being a noble woman makes you an asset to exchange through marriage, when one’s being sent to the Circle, all that was invested in raising her is considered a loss. And, _Maker_ , they make sure you know it. The only perk that I kept from my upbringings is my ability to impress... It’s all a show.” 

“No, my lady.” Blackwall realised that it would be difficult to outwit her. “You are more than that now. People will notice. Lady Vivienne has already expressed some concern.” 

“Like I care what that bitch says!” Catherine shouted, maybe a little too loud. She sighed and calmed herself. “Look, I don’t want to get angry tonight, Serah Blackwall.” She smiled maliciously and removed a small embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve. “Would you, my gallant... soldier... accept this favor as a token of my gratitude?” She was now overplaying the part. 

That wasn’t what Blackwall had planned. He was sweating now. 

“I’d be honored, my lady.” He took the handkerchief reluctantly. 

“Good. Now I am going to go and take care of our guests. But I am not finished with you, Warden Blackwall.” 

She turned on her heels and went off to join the feast, leaving him stunned, unaware of the grave danger they would soon face.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall didn’t know how much time had passed since the surprise attack on Haven. His mind was as blurred as the weather. They were experiencing the worst snowstorm of the season, cold, harsh, without an end in sight. And she was somewhere out there, alone. Alive, if the Maker willed.

And he searched for her, as long as he was able to stand and advance in the deep snow, ignoring the pain and the sharp cold piercing his bones, his fingers numbed. He didn’t eat much and only slept, exhausted, for short periods, dreaming of the Herald being shaked like a ragdoll by Corypheus.

Maybe it was the Maker’s way to punish him for his crimes, by giving him a glimpse of the rare goodness there is in this world, holding him one hand in forgiveness, only to snatch it from him and to leave him even more broken, empty. _No_ , he told himself, _the Herald is much more important in the Maker’s design than my pathetic self_.

At last, he heard shouts in the valley below. The Herald had been found, alive.

He went hurtling down the slope, heart racing. The storm was slowly clearing and he could make out the shape of a woman in Iron Bull’s arms.

Sera was with them.

“She is frozen and knocked-out! We must give her some heat! Bull, put her in that tent! _Beardy_ , come here!” 

Blackwall was taking his coat off when he heard Vivienne’s voice behind him. 

“That won’t be necessary, my dear.” she said with her usual syrupy voice. “There are less barbarous ways to help the poor girl, ones that will leave her less shocked when she’ll wake up.” 

He would have killed the woman. But there were other mages now entering the tent, healers. The Herald’s life was at stake, it wasn’t the time to let his temper loose. 

“Come, Sera, let the healers do their job.”

When they came out, one of the mage drew a barrier around the tent, a dome probably intended to ward of the cold. Blackwall took a few steps before collapsing in the snow.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The storm had stopped and it was dark when Blackwall woke up. Sera was with him. She looked at him kindly.

“Hey, _Beardy_. You slept almost a day and a half.  I was worried.”

“The Herald?” his voice was hoarse.

“She is alright, _Beardy_. We found her just in time. The mages patched her up. Solas told me he has given her something for the pain, it makes her sleep.”“She is alright.” he repeated.

“Hey, I saved you some bread. It’s stale, but you have to eat something. And take some tea, it’s still hot. ”

“Thank you, Sera.”

He was grateful for the bread. No longer as worried about the Herald, his hunger had returned tenfold  and wasn’t calmed by his meager meal.  He also needed to take some fresh air and clear his mind.

“Sleep, Sera. I’m going outside.”

“Okay. Don’t get lost.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a long watch. Two more days past and the Herald was still sleeping. Solas was kind enough to keep them informed on her condition. _She is a strong woman_ , he told Blackwall, _she will get through this_. So he waited.

Then, on the morning of the third day, it was Vivienne who paid them a visit.

-“The Herald is awake.” She said with a condescending voice, eyeing Blackwall. “She asked for you.”

He sprung on his heels and ran to her tent. The healer that was appointed to her sickbed took his leave. Lady Trevelyan laid on her back, both her arms immobilised in bandages.

“My lady, I am here” he said soflty.

“Blackwall...  I was worried about you.” Talking was straining her.

“About me?” He chuckled.  “It’s me you had worried. Please, my lady, don’t pull that kind of stunt again.”

“Oh, I can’t promise that. It worked.”

Blackwall would have liked to hold her hand but he was afraid to hurt her.

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I’m glad that I didn’t lose any finger or toe to frostbite. That would have been... gross.” Her breathing was laborious. “I have multiple fractures on both arms and hands, some broken ribs too. I’ll probably never be able to learn to play the lute.” She managed to laugh.

“My lady, are you in pain?”

“No, I can’t feel a thing. The stuff Solas gave me is... very strong. It makes my head spin.”

She closed her eyes. Blackwall thought she would fall asleep again. She whispered.

“I thought I was done for. Out there. Thinking of you gave me the strength to keep going. Please, Blackwall... stay with me.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

Blackwall took his gloves off, delicately cupping her face with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. Her lips adorned a subtle smile. Blackwall then remembered a lullaby he sang to his sister when he was young. In loss of words, he started to sing it as softly as he could, and tears blurred his vision.


	10. Chapter 10

Catherine was curled up in the middle of her huge bed, alone, a sharp pain hammering her head. She was exhausted by the interminable meetings, councils and state dinners that now resumed her day-to-day life. Surprisingly, she was almost eager for a new campaign to begin: going back in the field to seal rifts and slay demons would seem almost like a vacation.

After Haven, as soon as she was able to stand and get out of her tent, Catherine was astonished by the way she was greeted by her followers. Because that’s what the heteroclite group that called itself the Inquisition had become: followers of the Herald of Andraste. She was no longer only an envoy or, as she sometimes considered herself, a mascot, for the cause. The people now worshiped her as if she was the Prophet herself.

And then, with Solas guidance, they rediscovered Skyhold and claimed it as their own, establishing the fortress as their base. Named Inquisitor by her counsellors, Lady Catherine Trevelyan had become, in a matter of days, one of the most powerful monarch of Thedas, albeit without a realm to govern.

It’s seemed that her life had spin so fast. And that the person that, briefly, had made it feel more fulfilled, was now drifting away.

Catherine remembered that Blackwall had stayed with her during her convalescence after her long trek in the mountains. She remembered his presence, a caress lingering on her cheek; his voice, singing words she couldn’t distinguish, her mind clouded by the potion Solas had given her to ward off the pain. She now wondered if all of it had been a hallucination created by her sedated mind.

When Lady Trevelyan was well enough to resume her functions, Blackwall stepped aside and left her to deal with her numerous counsellors.  Even during their travel to Skyhold, he was nowhere in sight, and she was kept too busy by her entourage to have the leisure to look for him.

At last, two days after they entered Skyhold, she was able to liberate herself for a few hours.  And she knew with whom she wanted to share them.

She found Blackwall in the fortress courtyard. He asked her to accompany him for a tour of the ramparts _. Good idea_ , she thought, _the walls are so high, we will be able to be private there_. So she followed him.

When they were finally alone, Catherine was confused to see that Blackwall had reverted to his formal stance. He talked about Corypheus and the preparations that must be made to avoid another defeat.  When she tried a small opening, telling him that she would not lose anyone to Corypheus, especially not him, he cut her off for good:

“You can’t afford to think I am special. I’m a soldier no different than any soldier lost at Haven. I am fond of you, it’s true, but we can’t let this go any further. This – whatever you want this to be – is imposible.”

She tried to argue with him but he was uncompromising. Duty, hope, faith, there was no place for anything else. She told him that she wasn’t the Herald of Andraste and never asked the people to believe it. That, in fact, she wasn’t even sure she believed in Andraste herself. Her confession seemed to shock him and he grew even colder.

She realised that having her heart stamped like this made her imprudent. Catherine had been raised in the Andrastian faith but the years she passed studying history and philosophy eroded her faith at best. As a scholar, she developed a skeptic mind and a tendency to question. Of course, she was usually careful to keep those thoughts to herself since she was now, after an unfortunate twist of the fate, at the head of a religious organisation.

In the past, if Blackwall was a devout, he kept it discreet. But the more Catherine thought about it, the more she realised that the man’s dedication to the Grey Wardens, constantly reciting their mission and maxim and always trying to fulfill them, was very much akin to faith.

What if Blackwall, now enlightened by his knowledge of the Herald’s lack of faith, denounced her as a fraud? She would have to face greater problems than a broken heart.

At worst, the Right Hand of the late divine would, with her brash temper, see that she receives a rapid and, hopefully, merciful execution. At best, the Left Hand would quash the rumor, revoke her of any real power and make her a puppet of the Inquisition. But even the best resolution left a bitter taste in Catherine’s mouth for she had realised the opportunities given to her by her new improbable position: she could now be the one to make history, instead of teaching it. And, once Corypheus is defeated, bring positive change to the world. Help the helpless. Give hope. Make it better.  But none of it would happen if she hanged at the end of a noose or if someone else than her pulled all the strings.

But maybe she was extrapolating. Analysing too much. Maybe Blackwall was just not interested in her and couldn’t tell her to her face. Or, thought Catherine, maybe he was just telling the truth, or his interpretation of it.

Her mind was racing as fast as her heart. Letting this issue go unresolved would be the death of her. Tomorrow, she would go and face him. Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late afternoon when Catherine could some up the courage to call a break and to go meet Blackwall. She had been informed that he had established his quarters in the stables instead of the officer’s mess.  Well, he had been accustomed to solitude before he joined the Inquisition, speculated Catherine, maybe the mess was too crowded for him. 

The place was almost a ruin, filled by the smell of horses. The hearth was ablaze but the opened walls couldn’t keep the heat in. And, near the fire, lied Blackwall’s cot and a chest containing his few possessions.  Catherine then knew that her feelings for the man were unchanged: witnessing the precarious conditions in which the warden was living was heartrending to her. And she felt guilt when she compared it to hers.

But she would keep that to herself, for now. She first needed to understand why Blackwall had acted the way he did. She usually liked to talk, now she would try to listen.

Blackwall didn’t notice her presence at first. He was too busy sculpting a piece of wood that was slowly taking the shape of a griffon. A rocking griffon meant for children, en lieu of a rocking horse. Catherine found his apt movements hypnotising and didn’t have the heart to stop his creative trance.

When he finally remarked her presence, Blackwall ‘s features warmed up. He told Catherine how he was glad that she had found him in the woods, to be part of something greater than himself, to have the chance to follow her. Catherine listened, pleasant. He then talked about an event that took place when he was young, when he won the Free Marches Grand Tourney and, blinded by the foolish pride of youth, refused to be taken as a squire by the chevalier who had helped him. A decision that had haunted him all his life, but that he regretted no more, since without it they would never have met.

“I cannot regret this life, not with you in it.” Blackwall said, heartily.

When Catherine took her leave, she was even more confused than before. Well, at least, her fears of being denounced vanished. Blackwall seemed sincerely in awe of her and he had, for the first time, given her a glimpse of who he was. She would cherish every detail and let him open to her at his own pace.

Maybe there was hope left after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

The wind was hurling snow inside the stable, cold and merciless. Blackwall stood in front of the hearth, palms facing the fire. His fingers were too stiff from the cold for woodworking, and he didn’t have the heart for it anyway. The weather was fitting for a day like this, the anniversary of Liddy’s death.

How old would she have been now, 41 perhaps? Since his demise, Blackwall often thought that it was the wrong Rainier who died that winter long ago. The Maker, with his twisted sense of humor, took the bright and kind child, full of smiles, and hopes, always joyfully singing, the focus of their parents love, and left untouched the brash and cocky one, a disaster in the making.

And his entire life was a disaster. In his youth, his misguided attempt to become more than his parents, to extirpate himself of the squalor to which his low birth condemned him to live in, kept him wanting for more. Always more, until he paid for his greed with the blood of innocents.

And now, was his attempt to become a better man as misguided? No matter how he tried to do good, to be good, his lies would catch up on him, and destroy everything. Even now, he saw that the constant back and forth dance he played with Lady Trevelyan was hurting her, torturing her. One day he had the courage to stop it all, the other he was drawn to her like a man dying of thirst to a bottle of water freely given.  And she couldn’t stay away. This had to stop, for her sake:  letting her love the lie that he fabricated would be the one too many dark mark on his soul. Next time she comes, he will tell her the truth.

She was there, a minute later, holding a small lidded cauldron and a bag.

“I was told that you haven’t been seen in the dining hall today, I brought you some soup and some bread.”

“Thank you, my lady. You’re too kind to me.”

But Blackwall wasn’t hungry today and left the food untouched. She gave him a worried look.

“Are you alright? Wouldn’t you want to come inside? It’s freezing.”

“No, I’d prefer to stay here. But I’d appreciate your company for a while, if you can stand the cold.”

“Well, I have a warm coat, and we are well, near the fire.”

Lady Trevelyan sat down. Blackwall took the pelt blanket that kept him warm at night and, with few words, gave it to her. Staying upright, he stared at the fire. 

How could he tell her? How to begin?

“I... I had a sister. Her name was Liddy. She was younger than me. She died when I was very young, on this day.”

“I am so sorry, Blackwall.”

Catherine lifted her hand to meet his but stopped her movement in mid-air. Without a word, she put her hand back on her side. _Maker, she is afraid that I will reject her, again_ thought Blackwall, not without guilt.

“What was she like? Do you have memories of her”?

“She was... beautiful.  She had our mother’s good looks: green eyes, blond hair. A sagacious little thing. She had learnt to read almost by herself at a very young age. She liked flowers.”

“Flowers?” asked Catherine tentatively.

“Yes, but not as any little girl. My family lived modestly but we had a few books. One of them was about the flora of Thedas. Liddy knew the name of every flower in that book, in Fereldan, Orlesian and Tevinter. The summer she became sick, she’d ask me to bring her flowers so she could identify them. She died the next winter.”

Blackwall sighted. “But I don’t think you came here to hear an old man rambling old memories, my lady.”

Catherine  stood, still wrapped up in the blanket, concern on her face.

“Blackwall. I am here for you. If you allow me to. Please...  don’t push me away again.”

Blackwall took a long pause during which Catherine seemed to have stopped breathing.  Then he told her:

“My lady, I acted like a fool with you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course. You must have had your reasons.”

“Yes. Still, I owe you an explanation. What I am, Who I am. But not here. I heard that you are going for a mission on the Storm Coast next week. There is a place there where something happened to me that changed me. Please, meet me there.”

”I will. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

Catherine shivered and looked around her.

“Please, Blackwall. Don’t sleep here tonight, it is as cold as the Black City. I am sure we can find you a quiet place in the castle.”

“Okay, don’t worry, my lady, I’ll go to the barracks for tonight.”

“Goodnight, then.” she said with a smile.

“Goodnight, my lady. Thank you for everything.”

She then went back to the castle, leaving Blackwall with his doubts.

_A coward, and a fool. Liddy, please give me the courage to tell her._


	12. Chapter 12

The red lyrium light was spreading in the darkness of the cave, pulsing. As if it tried to push back the sickening glow, the Herald’s mark had never been so bright, green light fighting red light. Catherine held her staff high so that all her companions could see her marked hand and take heart. The presence of red lyrium gave the place an eerie feel, a wrongness that went right to her gut.

Blackwall was opening the way for her, shield up and sword ready. Catherine did find it difficult to keep concentrated on the mission: she had promised Blackwall to accompany him to that old ruin once their task was done. And there, she hoped, he would open himself to her and lay down the burden she sees him bearing when she looks in his eyes.

But, until then, they still had to get out of here alive. They had come to clear this old dwarven post of the red templars that had established a base here, on the Storm Coast. And, _chemin faisant_ , to destroy the red lyrium deposit they were harvesting. Blackwall had, once again, given her the instruction to leave him and run if he gave her the order. It was as if the man was looking to die...

 But Catherine wouldn’t let that happen. While they advanced, she continually casted protective barriers on him, even when there was no enemy in sight. To Blackwall’s growing disapproval.

“My lady, can you stop this, please? It makes my hair stand up. And you’re wasting your energy while there is no threat. Just keep this spell ready for when I’ll have three templars on my back.”

“No, Blackwall. You open the way ahead, they could come by surprise and I don’t want you hurt. I won’t wait until it’s too late, this spell takes some time to cast.” And she casted it again.

“ _Maker’s Balls_ , you are stubborn, woman!”

Varric was exasperated.

“Hey, Hero. Your Inquisitorialness. Get a room...  No, forget it, the templars are coming.”

Catherine readied herself, electricity sparkling in her. The power she weld felt good, intoxicating, as was looking at Blackwall’s dance of death with his sword and shield. She called forth her lightning, and the cave was alight again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was too late after the battle to go to the ruins. They stayed with their companions at the camp, keeping a respectful distance between each other. Sera had brought her lute: she was playing the instrument well but her singing was horrible. And if she was conscious of it, she didn’t care, screaming as loud as possible. Wine bottles coming from Maker-knows-where were opened.

Dorian came to the Herald and, presenting a hand, asked her to dance.

“Thank you, Dorian. I don’t dance. Even if you get me drunk.”

“Then what do the mages living in these parts do to have fun?”

Catherine was searching for an answer. Dorian was faster.

“If you can’t dance, can you sing? You must have at least one talent, I hope.”

Catherine looked at Blackwall, as if she was asking for his permission.

“My lady, do it if you wish. You can’t be worse that Sera.”

Sera stopped playing.

“Hey, I heard that!”

All their company was now staring at Catherine, waiting for her to start singing. Blackwall smiled supportively. Catherine then sang in a high and crystalline voice:

_Enchanters! The time has come to be alive In the Circle of Magi, Where we will thrive with our brothers._

_Enchanters remind That time will not unwind. The dragon’s crooked spine, Will never straighten into line._

Blackwall was astonished by her hidden talent. Did she have other secrets, and were they all as sweet? Her confidence grew with each song and round of applause. Dorian was also supplying her with a steady flow of wine. She was pretty drunk when she started to sing _Oh Grey Warden._ Blackwall felt that the enchantment of the night had broken. Tomorrow, he would bring her to the old ruins and confess to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine thought that her nerves were about to give up on her. Blackwall had brought her to that ruin in the Storm Coast and gave her nothing. He asked her more time, again, to think. What was the deal with him?

In her previous life, in the Circle, her first reflex would have been to think that she was at fault. The rare liaisons she had there never had been serious, and her partners had always let her know the little interest they had in her. When hurt, she concentrated on her work, telling herself that maybe she wasn’t talented for love, or too ordinary to caught a man’s attention. She, at least, was competent in her work and took gratification from it.

But it was different with Blackwall. He treated her with sincere deference. And even if he restrained himself from complimenting her with words, his eyes told otherwise. Catherine also knew that he would give his life for her: in fact, he already did once, in that dark future she saw.

He told her, before bringing her to the Storm Coast, that he would explain her who and what he was. The only thing she could see as troublesome was is Grey Warden past, and future. There was only a small fraction of the Grey Wardens who joined the order of their free will: most were conscripted. And, as she had read, the conscripted were usually men and women without ties and often with criminal past. If Blackwall had such a past, would she be able to accept it? How much could she accept? And his future? The calling? It could be in ten years, or in ten months. But, with all that was happening in the world right now, she didn’t know who would live to see the next year anyway.

She realized she had to think too, before he comes to her and tell her the truth.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

During their journey back from the Storm Coast, Catherine had to gather all her will to keep her distances from Blackwall. The rare times she glanced at him, he seemed even more troubled than usually; he couldn’t manage to grant her but a faint smile before looking away.  The entire company travelled in silence. Catherine couldn’t say if they were influenced by the rainy weather or by her mood.

It gave her time to think. She thought about what she knew of the Grey Wardens. She thought about Blackwall, what she saw in him: courage, honor, selflessness, mixed with kindness and respect. And, beneath all this, a good sense of humor. How he made her feel, how much she needed him. And, Maker, how much she loved him and wanted him.

She never made a decision based on her feelings before. All had to be logically calculated. But now, it seemed that her heart screamed louder than her brain. For him, she was ready to accept almost anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The debriefing following her return to Skyhold was never-ending. Catherine had asked to veto every mission after she noticed the liberty Leliana took to summarily execute anyone she considered as an enemy. To avoid any confrontation with the Nightingale, the Inquisitor questioned Cullen and Josephine as much as Leliana, even if she would have followed their advice blindly.  In fact, the spymaster, with her high proficiency at playing the Game, scared her more that she could admit.

Back in her room, all she could think was to call her servants so they could prepare her a hot bath.  No, that wasn’t true: something else was always lurking in the back of her mind. Or rather someone else.

And there he was. Blackwall was waiting for her, leaning on her balcony’s entrance. Catherine was enthralled by the sight.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Blackwall approached her.

“I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin, I wanted to... I just had to see you.”

And he kissed her, at last. A passionate but swiftly broken embrace.

“No, this is wrong, I shouldn’t even be here.”

“You’re wrong. You’re exactly where you should be. Here, with me.” Catherine said with a kind but firm tone.

 “I want to give in. Maker knows how much I wish I could. I’m not what you want. I could never be what you deserve.”

“Why are you saying that? Please tell me.”

Blackwall fell silent, searching for words. Then he told her, while presenting the Warden-Constable badge.

“There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me. “

Catherine shook her head in disapproval.

“Blackwall. First I never felt more alive than since I met you. I thought I was happy in the Circle, with my studies and my teachings, but I see now how shallow this life was. How alone I was. You changed all that for me. You’ve given me so much already, and make me _feel_ so much.”

Blackwall was suspended to her lips. She took his hand.

 “I know what being a Grey Warden means. Your order is secretive, the Maker knows how much I tried to get information from you but you’ve given me rubbish.” she said with a faint smile. “But I read about... the calling. And I know the kind of men that are conscripted into the order. I suppose that was your case?”

A muttered “Yes” was all he could manage.

“What is important to me is the man you are right now. A good man.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, I firmly believe so. And if our time together is... limited... I will cherish every moment of it.”

 _We will regret this, my lady_ , he told her before kissing her again. She had just blessed him with her love without having given him the chance to talk about his past.  That was probably the boldest move she had made in her life.  She hoped that his last phrase wouldn’t be an omen for events to come.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  _What is important to me is the man you are right now. A good man. I firmly believe so._

Thom Rainier had died, long ago, on that anonymous Storm Coast cliff, so that Blackwall could live. But Blackwall new that Rainier’s ghost was always there, creeping, his hands covered in blood, resurfacing in his nightmares when the night came. Now, the Herald offered to chase the mongrel away, for good.  Blackwall wanted to tell her the truth, but his lie had become an half-lie, and the offer was too tempting. He would allow Rainier one last act of cowardice before banishing him to the void.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun was high above the Exalted Plains, the air filled with the scent of fire and death.  The hostilities between the factions involved in the orlesian civil war had come to a standstill, but their violence had thinned the veil and stirred demons and horrors of their sleep. In those situations, the Inquisition preferred to send small squads using guerilla tactics to clear the area than to engage the entire army upfront. Catherine was leading one of those squads, since there were also many rifts to close in that region.

She had recently learned and quickly mastered the ways of the knight-enchanters. She was a natural, according to the trainer that was appointed to her in Skyhold. When Catherine asked her counsellors to find her a teacher for this specialization, the reason she gave them was that she, as the Inquisitor, felt obliged to occupy a more prominent role on the battlefield. But her real motivation was that she wanted to be able to follow Blackwall in the heat of battle.

And they were magnificent together. Catherine felt that, with Blackwall on her side, she could defeat any demon, any dragon, even an entire army. She was all-powerful, a queen of lightning and ice and of ethereal swords, and he was the noblest knight, fearless and stronger than a qunari.  Their passion burned even stronger outside the battlefield, elated as they were to have found each other. Amidst the war, the threats and the rifts opening everywhere, neither of them ever knew so much happiness.

Catherine insisted to make their relationship public. The Inquisition's goal, she said, was to change the rules and make the world anew: she intended to break any rule, or anyone, that would keep them apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall was delicately painting the small paperweight he sculpted as a gift for the Inquisitor. He found it fitting to give it the form of an owl. Catherine seemed fond of the animal; Blackwall had noticed the small collection of owl figurines she already had on her chamber’s desk.  He just hoped that he could finish it before his lady adjourned her war council meeting.

Too late; she was now entering the stables and seemingly on the brink of a panic attack.

“Blackwall, I am afraid that I don’t have the skills required for our next mission.” She said under her breath.

“What are you talking about, love?”

“Not here. Come to my chambers when you’ll have finished this... oh, that’s cute.” she smiled and relaxed a bit when she saw his work. “Don’t take too long, please.”

Blackwall didn’t intend to. He couldn’t figure what was causing so much fear in his lady’s eyes, after all they had done and seen in battle. So he quickly tidied his workshop and made his way up to the Inquisitor’s chambers.

And she was there, pacing back and forth in her room.  After greeting him, she explained the reason of her anxiety:

“We have known since our dealings with Alexius that Corypheus intends to assassinate Empress Celene, but we didn’t know how or when. Our scouts have intercepted some intelligence that points to the peace talks that will take place in Halamshiral in two weeks. My counsellors have advised me to assist to those peace talks in order to gather more information on the assassination attempt and avert it.”

Blackwall felt his stomach turn. They were throwing her in a snake pit.

“My lady, is your presence really required? You could send Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana with a small detachment of bodyguards.”

“No, I have already given my accord and asked our ambassador and our spymaster to feed me reports on the nobles I’ll have to deal with.” She chuckled . “It’s funny, I usually tend to study people that have been dead for centuries.”

Blackwall knew that his lady had a brilliant mind but playing the Game required more than that.

“The situation must be taken seriously, love. It is said that more blood was spilled by the Grand Game than in any war in Orlais. And you’re uninitiated. I am concerned for you.”

Catherine sighed.

“It is not the Game that’s frightening me. I won’t enjoy it, but I think I’m bright enough to outwit them. The problem is that the peace talks will take the form of a ball. _A ball_.”

Blackwall was dumfounded. He then remembered that she didn’t know how to dance.

“You were raised a noble. You must have some knowledge...”

She interrupted him.

“Blackwall, please understand. I was ten years old when my parents sent me to the circle. That was twenty years ago. All that I remember about dancing is that I wasn’t very good at it.”

“If you intend to go, you will be expected to dance. When do you leave?”

“In seven days.”

 “Then, I have seven days to teach you. We won’t go for anything acrobatic, just the basics.”  Blackwall bowed to Catherine, presenting his hand. “Lady Trevelyan, may I have this dance?”

She smiled, took his hand and followed his lead.

 “I’d like that. I didn’t know you danced.”

“I did, once, in another life.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall was standing in the last place he wished to be in all of Thedas. He was downright tempting fate with is mere presence amongst noble with whom he once fraternized. All this without a mask, on the order of the Inquisitor herself.

Before they left Skyhold, he was torn between the desire to shield her against the wicked hearts she would have to face at the ball and the urgency to flee and hide. When the Inquisitor asked him personally to accompany her to Halamshiral, the only excuse he could find was, again, his lower status and the impact he could have on her image. She wouldn’t hear a thing.

“Stop it, Blackwall. You are an officer of the Inquisition, and the orlesian spies need only to be half as competent as Leliana to know about us. I am not hiding you, especially not to please those pigs. You don’t have any idea what I have read in Leliana’s reports. They all have blood on their hands, or worse, and have immunity because of their status. Maker, I’m even supposed to save the ass of someone who burned an entire alienage to the ground just to keep face. So, my love, I want you to stand proud at my side. Their opinions can go to the void as far as I am concerned.”

She then fiercely kissed him. Maker he loved her. But her words had brought back someone he thought had vanished for good. One who was once himself a player of the Game, whose hands where as bloody as the ones they would shake this night and whose crimes were unforgivable. And who was once one of the best dancers Orlais had ever seen.

_Thom Rainier_. Blackwall prayed that his love never hears the name.


	15. Chapter 15

The cold nights of the desert made Catherine glad of her sleeping arrangements. Her bear, like she liked to call him, was warm like a furnace beside her. She was snuggling his back, attentive to his every breath. Blackwall’s sleep pattern had been erratic lately and Catherine grew more worried after each night. Before Halamshiral, Catherine remembered that Blackwall had nightmares from time to time. But now, there wasn’t a night where his bad dreams didn’t wake him, damp with sweat, agitated and sometimes downright screaming. She couldn’t make sense of the words he mumbled when he was in that state and, once he woke up, Blackwall wouldn’t give her a hint of his dreams nature.

During the day, Catherine noticed that Blackwall had become more distant, his eyes fleeing hers and filled with sorrow. Since she remembered the number of times he had shunned her in the past, Catherine was careful not to press any questions that she deemed too direct. The day before, she had found the courage to ask him if it was Corypheus false calling that was affecting him, under the well-founded pretense that she couldn’t afford the risk to bring him to Adamant if it was the case. Blackwall reassured her, saying that it was only old memories that were resurfacing and that he was fit to face whatever Adamant may bring. She didn’t have the courage to ask him more.

If it wasn’t the false calling nor, she hoped, a true one, then whatever happened at Halamshiral must be the cause beneath Blackwall’s change of behavior. That incursion on the Game’s playground had taken his toll on her too, confronting her on what she thought was her biggest flaw.

Catherine had never thought of herself as a people’s person. Until she was sent to the Circle, her anxious mother had kept her in relative isolation from the rest of the world, seeing it as full of danger and perils and fearing the day her precious little girl would be sent off to a husband. When Catherine’s magic emerged, she had lost all value in the eyes of her father: all those teachers and trainers and books her mother had required for her over the years had been paid for naught, the girl wasn’t marriageable material anymore. The last words her mother told her before she was sent away was that the Circle was a safe place for her and that it was a place of knowledge, where she could learn all her life, maybe even do research and make a name for herself. In fact, it was even better than the alternative: a married noblewoman only requirement was to produce heirs, ideally males, for his lord.

Well, it is true that the Circle was a place of learning, to the great joy of Catherine. But the problem was that she wasn’t alone with her teachers and her books: about fourteen other young mages her age were frequenting the Circle’s ground. She was well-spoken, well-educated, compliant and willing to learn; none of the others were nobles and most would have given anything to be free of the Circle’s clutch. It was almost inevitable for Catherine to become the focus of their frustration. And they did everything they could to hurt her, short of using their magic, too scared of the consequences it could have brought. Her only consolation, during her teenage years, was that most of her tormentors would probably not pass their Harrowing, undisciplined as they were. Sadly, her predictions came to past, which added guilt on her conscience.

Fortunately, after her Harrowing, she was allowed to pursue research in her field of magic and she joined other young mages who were as passionate as her. Relatively traumatized by her earlier years, she mostly kept to herself and acted serious and formal with her colleagues.  Some of them saw her attitude as a challenge and did everything they could to make her laugh, open up to others, have fun. They even convinced her to join them in their pranks. She slowly did and made friends for the first time. Friends that were now in hiding somewhere, if they had not died at the Conclave.

Even if her teenage years have been behind her for some time, they left old wounds that never healed completely. She always felt a degree of inadequacy when she had to interact with others, and always tried to act accordingly to what others expected of her. She had been able to manage in her day-to-day life, as a teacher and even in her new position as Inquisitor. But in Halamshiral, Catherine had the impression of being in a wolf’s den. Without Josephine and Leliana there to counsel her, she would have lost by default.

Surprisingly, Blackwall had also been there to give her hints. He had said wise words when he told her that she was uninitiated to the Game: there were many subtleties, signs, an entire code she was unaware of, and that he pointed to her.

She saw clearer now, as she was now gently stroking his dark hair. He hadn’t been only a simple soldier before joining the Grey Wardens, like he said. No simple soldier could speak like he did, with so much class; no simple soldier could dance like he did nor know so much of the Game; no simple soldier could have won her heart. Catherine remembered that, in Halamshiral, some nobles thought to have known him, which he denied. It was clear that he had lived that life once, and his departure from it hadn’t been on good terms. What could have happened to him to make him as broken as he was?

As if he was reading her thoughts in his sleep, Blackwall suddenly became agitated. Another nightmare. Catherine woke him up before it became too intense.

“Shhh my love, it’s just a dream.”

Blackwall was still panting. He searched for Catherine’s hand.

“I am sorry to have woken you up, love. Go back to sleep, it’s nothing.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking about you, how you’ve been since we left Halamshiral. Please forgive me to have brought you there.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad to have been able to see you in that dress, you were magnificent.” He said with the hint of a faint smile.

“No, Blackwall. I forced you to go to Halamshiral even if you didn’t want to. And it changed you.  You... you have been there before. Please tell me.”

Blackwall stiffened in her arms.

“Yes.” He said dryly.

“You have lived that life. What happened that made you join the Wardens?”

Blackwall’s voice became cold.

“Forgive me my lady. When you join, your past is forgotten, so let just leave it that way.”

Maker, he was stubborn. But Catherine had had enough.

“The world may have forgotten your past, but you clearly didn’t. Look, my love, I already told you that I know about the kind of men that are conscripted in the order, and I now know the kind of people we can find in Orlais palaces. This is a messed-up place.” Her voice went soft. “I’m not asking this to judge you. I just want to help you. Please, share your burden with me.”

“No, I could never ask you that. I’m not worth it. I’m not even worthy of you.”

“It is not up to you to decide that. It’s up to me.”

Blackwall fell silent. When he spoke again, Catherine felt her heart shatter.

“I am burdening you. I am nothing but an old, broken soldier. You deserve someone better.”

“No, no and no. I love you. I need you. I don’t want anyone else than you, Blackwall. I’m not letting you go.” she sighed. She wasn’t going to win that battle tonight, and they needed to rest before their mission at Adamant tomorrow. “You’ll have to tell me one day about it all, my love.”

Blackwall relaxed. “One day.”


	16. Chapter 16

In-game banter between Cole and Blackwall

**_Blackwall:_ ** _They say you're a demon._

 **_Cole:_ ** _Yes. Or spirit. I want it to be spirit._

 **_Blackwall:_ ** _Either way, I know you're dangerous._

 **_Cole:_ ** _Yes. Like you._

 **_Blackwall:_ ** _What?_

 **_Cole:_ ** _A sack on the side of the road, struggling. The boy runs from it, crying._

 **_Blackwall:_ ** _Fine, so you're dangerous and insane._

 ** _Cole:_** _You would stop it if you could. That is enough. But don't do it again_.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nightmares had returned.

They had plagued him during the first years he was on the run. Every night, his mind recreated the entire scene. Every night, he saw Pelletier, his youngest recruit with his boyish features, dragging a not much younger lad by his blond hair before stabbing him in the back with his sword. And Mornay, his lieutenant, snatching a small girl from her mother’s arms and throwing her out of the carriage where the horses trampled her to death. Another girl being put in a sack on the side of the road, and a crying boy shot in the back with an arrow while trying to escape to the woods. And he, Rainier, just stood there, as he had stood in reality: panicked, afraid, frozen amidst the chaos and the screams.

Then, the carriage and the soldiers disappeared. Only the children remained, two boys and two girls, their golden heads covered in blood, disfigured, dead. They slowly rose and walked toward him, pointing accusatory fingers.

_I didn’t know you would be there. I’m so sorry._

_You could have stopped it! Murderer! Traitor! Monster!_

After a couple of months of this regime, Rainier had become a complete wreck. The nightmares had started appearing during the day, too. They were short glimpses at first, shadows that took form in the corner of his eyes. Soon, they were there, the children, everywhere he looked, their dead eyes burning his soul. And sometimes he saw _him_ , and no sight was more frightening: a younger version of himself, clean-shaved and well-dressed, his eyes pitch black, staring at him and smiling with evil intent.

Thom had contemplated death but even the lowest scum that he was still believed in the Maker, and he wasn’t ready to face His judgment yet. And he wasn’t ready to face the justice of Men either. He decided to keep on living his wretched life, hiding under one false name after the other, never staying for long in the same place. His only peace came on the nights he could afford to get himself drunk to a stupor.

When he became Blackwall and started to work toward his redemption, the nightmares receded, reappearing sparsely, a warning to keep him on his path. They had almost disappeared since the Inquisitor arrived in his life, banished by the light she was bringing him. He had even allowed himself to experience happiness by her side, loving her with all of his rotten soul. He even, sometimes, fed her with some truths about himself, in a misguided attempt to be loved for who he really was.

But she loved a lie. He saw it at Halamshiral, the way she looked at him and elevated him above the corruption and decadence of the orlesian nobility: what she didn’t know is that he was worse than the most horrendous of them.  

And now, his facade was crumbling and she had started to ask questions. She knew he had a past and that he hadn’t been the simple soldier he pretended to be. She even offered him to share his burden: he could never allow that. She had touched him, loved him, shared his bed: Blackwall was afraid that if she discovered who he really was _, a murderer of children_ , it would mark her and change her forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were advancing in the scorching heat, the sun descending on the horizon. Blackwall knew that the ordeal that was awaiting him at Adamant would be as difficult as the one at Halamshiral. The Grey Wardens weren’t renowned as fine players of the Game and had already enough on their plates so it would have been easy in other circumstances for Blackwall to go unnoticed. But, _Maker_ , he was so weary now, so tired... If it hadn’t been for the Inquisitor, he would be searching for a rock somewhere in this blighted desert to lie in its shadow and wait for the sands to engulf him.

Then he remembered a conversation he had with the real Blackwall, many years ago. _Adamant will always be the order,_ he said _. A guardian on the edge of the abyss, the lone soul that stares into oblivion and doesn’t waver_. None of the Wardens had wavered: he knew that their intentions were righteous but Corypheus twisted their sacrifice to make it his own. Even if he didn’t undergo the joining, the Grey Wardens were his brothers and sisters in spirit. The only good actions he did in his life were done in their name. He owed them everything and couldn’t let them down. The real Blackwall shouldn’t have forfeited his life for him in vain. So he tried to stay focussed and to remain Blackwall.

It was easier on the battlefield, were everything was reflexes, a mindless choreography: slashing, cutting, intercepting attacks... He was no one then, only a weapon and a shield protecting the Inquisitor. When they arrived at the center of the fortress and the Inquisitor asked him to talk some sense into the remaining Wardens, he was Thom Rainier again. The old captain knew how to give a good motivational speech and how to gain the loyalty of men. He served them a twisted mix of lies and truths, a necessary evil to avoid a bloodbath. And it worked.

What he then saw in his lady’s eyes – _Pride, admiration?_ – seemed to erase all the doubts and the guilt that had consumed him in the last weeks. He could be his champion again, noble, fearless and strong. He didn’t know what kind of demon was waiting for them in the fade.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Isn’t it ironic that the intelligence you need to lead is the only one you don’t possess? Why don’t you return to you books, Lady Trevelyan?”

Demons were one-dimensional beings by definition, focussing on a singular emotion. But, _Maker’s Balls_ , they were good at it. Catherine had feared to be an inadequate leader: she could take rational decisions and give orders but could she inspire? After her experience in the Fade, she told herself that the important thing, if she wanted to do her job correctly, was to know her weaknesses and to surround herself with people who could make up for it.

And Blackwall was one of them. He had been amazing at Adamant. She half-joked that she feared to see the remaining Grey Wardens promoting him at the head of their order.

“Fear not, my lady, I wouldn’t accept any promotion that would require me to leave your side.”

“Even so, you have leadership, more than I, I must confess. You are already helping to train recruits. It would seem appropriate to give you a command.”

Blackwall’s face went bone white.

“Please, Catherine. I... I wouldn’t want this. I am happy just to be by your side.”

Catherine studied his face, perplexed. She finally concluded:

“If it is what you want, I’ll respect it. But I still think that you are wasting your talents.”

“Being with you is not a waste.”

Catherine laughed.

“Flatterer. But I could still head your advice on another matter.”

“Tell me, love.”

“I haven’t decided how to judge magister Erimond yet. We could imprison him or make him an agent under guard like Alexius. Or execute him, or make him Tranquil.  It would be a first if we execute him, notwithstanding anyone sister Leliana choose to terminate without my knowledge in the past.” she said with a smirk.

“My lady, he deserves no less than death. What he did to the Wardens, what Corypheus did... it’s not right. To want to do good, to be good, and have that turned against you. You must show them your strength, your resolve to stop them. He must die.”

Catherine considered Blackwall’s words.

“I couldn’t condemn Alexius to this fate, even when I saw the consequences of his actions, what he did to you. Alexius was a broken man after his son died. I pitied him. But Erimond... he doesn’t have any remorse for what he did, he is even proud of it. He is everything that makes the non-mages hate us and what he did to your order is inexcusable... As for the Tranquility rites, they shouldn’t be used as a punishment. It is a fate worse than death, I have seen it performed and I wouldn’t even wish it to Erimond. No, he will be executed, and I will do it myself.”

_No. She couldn’t be serious._

“You can’t do that, my lady. The crime he did was to the Wardens, leave it to me.”

“The Wardens are now under the Inquisition’s protection, with limited powers until Corypheus is defeated. I am the highest authority and I won’t ask someone else to do my dirty job. That’s something I want to end, the nobles hiding in their castles, waging the power of life and death without getting their hands filthy. I want to lead, with honor. So I will do it.”

She had that look that meant that arguing with her was impossible. Blackwall capitulated.

“As you wish. You are, after all, in charge.”

That windy afternoon, lady Catherine Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, proceeded to cut off magister Livius Erimond’s head with a greatsword. The cut wasn’t clean and she had to swing the greatsword twice, glad to have dressed in red for the occasion. This was done in the utmost silence at the Inquisitor’s demand: it was a solemn event, not a show for the masses, and no cheers would have been tolerated. That night, in her chambers, she told Blackwall:

“It is done. I hope it brings you solace.”

Blackwall was confused.

“My lady, tell me you didn’t do it for me.”

“He deserved it, for all the reasons I told you. But I am glad to have avenged you and the Wardens.”

She smiled but her gaze remained empty. What had he done to her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Panicked, afraid, frozen... Thom Rainier was standing in front of him, his eyes pitch black, smiling. Catherine was in his arms, her head resting on the monster’s shoulder, her long brown curls cascading in her back. When she turned and looked at him, her eyes were black too._


	17. Chapter 17

It was a beautiful Friday morning in Skyhold. The snow had melted and the air was crisp with the promise of spring. Apple trees must have started to blossom in the valley below but here in the mountains only the precocious crocus and _perce-neige_ had started to show up.

Blackwall was chopping wood to keep his hands occupied, saddened by the fact that his lady was to be locked-up in the keep for most of the day, discussing diplomatic matters with Lady Josephine. It was a waste to be inside on a day like this, and Catherine would have benefited to breathe some fresh air and to feel the sun warm her skin.

A couple of weeks ago, her decision to execute magister Erimond had troubled her greatly. Blackwall couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for her state of mind. He remembered the many times when they talked all night, discussing military strategies, philosophizing about anything and nothing. He asked her one time why his opinion meant so much to her, since she had counsellors in all matters that were far more competent than him. She gave him the warmest smile before answering:

“My love, you don’t give yourself the credit you deserve. You have a brilliant mind, that’s why I like discussing with you. Yes, I have counsellors and I listen to the information they provide me before making a decision. But I must be careful around them when I voice an opinion; most have pretty settled ideas and I am afraid that some could be quite dangerous if I shake their preconceptions too harshly. You are the only one I trust enough to completely open my mind to.”

He didn’t deserve that trust, but he knew that he had to keep the ball of guilt forming in his chest in check, for it was true that it was safer for her to discuss certain matters with him only; by example, the fact that she didn’t believe in the Maker.

When she started to preside trials in Skyhold, she had brought up the subject of the types of sentences she was allowed to give.

“It seems, according to Lady Leliana and Lady Cassandra, that the title of Inquisitor gives me absolute power when I preside a trial, much alike any head-of-state. Don’t you find it peculiar that a religious organisation has the power of life and death on his subjects?”

“My lady, the Inquisition is more than that. Remember that you command an army too.”

 “Yes, that is true. But… I joined the Inquisition by force of circumstances. When I choose to really commit to this cause, it was because I thought that it could not only save this world, but change it for the better...  And repeating these old patterns doesn’t feel right to me.”

“What do you mean, Kate?”

 “Well, those are subjects I have studied in the past. Trials, royal audiences, executions ordered by the state. Philosophical essays about the handling of prisoners, statistics about the sentences given to different kind of crimes, etc.”

Blackwall was extremely uncomfortable with the way this conversation was heading.

“A grim interest.” he stated.

“Yes, but I was not the only one interested in that. Our small group kept quiet, those kind of talks could have been perceived as pernicious  by the authorities. What we concluded is that a fair trial was a nonexistent concept in Thedas. All depended on your rank and on the mood of the lord judging you, or on his political interests. And the states that were executing the most prisoners were also the most violent ones. It has a spiralling effect. I really don’t see any advantage to give this kind of sentence.”

Blackwall stared at the ground, remembering the face of the children he had ordered his men to slaughter six years ago.

“But some men are monsters, they deserve death.”  he almost whispered.

“And I will be the one who will decide that? What if I am mistaken? Will it be presented like a show to please the masses, where merchants sell cotton candy to the children and people applause when it is done? A show of death? And if I choose to use this power and reserves it only for the most horrendous cases, what tells me that my eventual successor won’t abuse of it? I would rather have it written in the Inquisition’s code that the Inquisitor or any of his representatives aren’t allowed to pronounce a death penalty.”

Blackwall felt a knot tying itself in his stomach and sweat pouring down his back. _This is not about me_ , he thought. _She’s not fishing information, she only needs my guidance_.

“My love, this is noble of you. But your view on the world is idealistic. It is not ready for what you ask. Your allies are as ruthless as your enemies. Sometimes, you will be expected to show mercy, but in other times, you will have to send a strong message. If the Inquisition appears weak, the world you want to see happening one day won’t, it will not have been allowed to survive.”

Catherine paused and he saw tears brimming her eyes.

“You speak the truth. I will have to resolve myself to do it, one day. But I can’t help to feel that it will be like selling my soul.”

She sought his advice again when it came the time to judge magister Erimond’s. Before him, not one of the prisoners she judged was sent to the gallows. _My lady, he deserves no less than death._ Blackwall told her.   _You must show them your strength, your resolve to stop them. He must die._

She listened to his counsel. She chose to do it herself; it turned out nasty. And it broke something in her.

After that, he did anything he could to bring some light back in her eyes.  He told her that she had done the right thing. He danced with her for entire evenings in her chambers, made sure that there were always fresh flowers on her desk and left her sweet notes every day. Sera landed a hand in his attempt to cheer up Catherine. He had observed them when they were on the tavern’s roof, eating cookies and laughing while throwing various things on passers-by below. Of all the friends he had, Blackwall was most glad for Sera.

Catherine’s mood did improve over time; she was more resilient that he had judged her. And she was the Inquisitor after all: even if it was only a strange coincidence that put the Mark on her hand, Blackwall saw that she had what it takes to be a great leader. She was selfless, thoughtful, treated everyone with respect, spoke with care, and had this hidden strength that seemed to enable her to go through anything.

As Blackwall lifted his axe, he noticed a silhouette walking toward him with measured steps. Probably the last person he wanted to catch the attention of, and she was definitely heading where he stood. He put his axe down but not his concern.

“Warden... Blackwall, I have a report that might be of interest to you.” she said in her usual cold tone.

Blackwall hesitantly took the manuscript she was tending to him and read it.

_Eluvestia 20th, 9:41 Dragon_

_Cyril Mornay, who took part in the 9:35 Dragon massacre of General Vincent Callier and his family, has been captured ten days ago in the north-eastern orlesian town of Sarhnia. He has been found guilty of the charge of murder and will be hanged on Molioris 2th of this year. Mornay was part of the infamous Thom Rainier’s company. Captain Rainier, leader of the attack, is still on the loose to this day._

Blackwall hands were shaking now. She knew. There was no point in trying to outwit a woman like the Nightingale, to run or to hide from her. He would already have been dead if that was her wish. He was still alive and his only chance to continue breathing was to keep his cool.

And Mornay. They were friends, once, before he failed him. Before he failed them all. Another name would be added to the list of those who died for his mistake.

“How long have you known?”Blackwall could manage to say.

“For some time now, but I’ve had my doubts since I met you. You seem to forget that I have lived alongside the last Wardens of Ferelden during the Blight. There’s nothing like a Grey Warden, and you are nothing like a Grey Warden.”  

This was what the demon had told him during their visit of the Fade. Leliana had individually debriefed each one of them. He had tried to stay vague but coherent, and of course would never have divulged something as compromising. Who could have reported this to her? _Probably Cassandra_ , he thought.

His next thought was not for himself, but for his lady, the Inquisitor. She was swimming in troubled waters if her own spymaster didn’t judge important to inform her of the traitor in her midst. A traitor with whom she shared her bed. Blackwall felt a wave of disgust passing through him.

“You knew what I am, but you didn’t inform the Inquisitor. Aren’t you supposed to protect her from people like... me?”

Leliana didn’t display any emotion when she answered him.

“You wouldn’t have been allowed to touch even one of her hair if I deemed you dangerous to her. You’ve had your uses, and the Inquisitor is a mature woman, I’m not there to judge who she beds. But the capture of Mornay has made people talk, and certain names that should have been forgotten have resurfaced and came to my attention. Thom Rainier is one of them.”

It was over, thought Blackwall. Everything was over. His life was forfeit and he didn’t have the moral strength left to fight for it.  Standing in front of the Nightingale, he wouldn’t be more afraid if he had been looking at Corypheus himself. But there was at least one last thing the worthless scum that he was could do correctly. He just hoped that the spymaster still had a heart hidden deep inside.

“She must not know. Do whatever you want with me, but don’t tell her. I beg you.”

“That’s not my intention. The Inquisitor knows that your past is not a clean slate but you crossed a line that even the worst of us wouldn’t dare to. You made your men kill children and left them to die when the reckoning came.  Learning what you did would put her out of focus and the Inquisition can’t afford that.”

So Catherine had always been just a tool for them, and they wanted her to be optimal at her task.  And she could not be if she knew of the filth she had allowed to touch her, body in mind, during all those months.

Blackwall felt guilty to leave her with vultures like Leliana. He hoped Sera would help her not to forget of her personal worth.

“What do you intend to do with me, Sister Leliana?”

“I want to give you a choice. You can continue to work for the Inquisition as Blackwall. We can use the appearance of having a Grey Warden at our side. I will do what is necessary to stop the rumors. You will do as if we never had this conversation and you will carry your secret to your grave. Or you can leave Skyhold and get as far as Orlais as possible. My agents will forge you a new identity. You’ll have to tell the Inquisitor that you’ve heard the Calling, the true one this time. It will be hard for her to accept it, but we will make sure that she gets over it.”

Blackwall didn’t understand: was the spymaster offering to help him, in her own cold and calculated way? That could not be possible, she owed him nothing. He was nothing.

“If I choose to leave, what tells me that you won’t stab me in the back?”

“Is that the opinion of have of me? I am offended. I do what needs to be done for the Inquisition to prevail, and I am merciless to the enemies of our cause. I think you are only an enemy to yourself, not to the Inquisition. Also, you occupy a special place in the Inquisitor’s heart. I would not resign myself to the idea of eliminating you if it is not called for.”

Blackwall sighed heavily. _Kate_ , he thought, _I don’t know what to do._

“You have until tomorrow morning to decide, or I will decide for you.”

On these words, Sister Leliana turned her back on him and walked back to her crows. The shining sun above was almost an insult to the storm raging in Blackwall’s heart.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains extreme (but historically accurate!) graphic violence that will make you glad not to have lived in the middle ages.  
> I also want to thank thievinhippo for reviewing this chapter. It wouldn’t be the same without her recommendations.

Leliana had just entered her rookery when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Soon Angélique, her second-in-command, appeared. The stakes were high and Leliana wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with this task. 

Angélique stood straight and reported,  “The area was clear when you talked to the Warden. Nobody could have listened.” 

“Good. Now we wait. That will be all, Angélique.”

“You haven’t changed your idea about the way we manage this case? It would be easy to close it definitely and sever all leads that points to us.”

“No, we will stick to the plan. You’re dismissed.”

The spymaster heard irritation in her voice and Angélique knew that the last thing she  wanted  to do was to fan the flames of the Nightingale quiet rage. After a short salute, Angélique left the spymaster with her reports and her crows.

Leliana sighed. The situation with _Blackwall_ was quickly spiralling out of control. She knew from the start that he wasn’t a true Grey Warden. He pretended to be in Ferelden during the Blight; there were only two Wardens in Ferelden at that time, and he wasn’t one of them. Every piece of information about the Wardens that he gave them didn’t make any sense, but the treaties he provided were authentic. Also, for the uninitiated, he played the part fairly well. If he could keep himself in check, there was a use for him.

Lady Cassandra was completely blinded by the sense of duty and honor he exhibited, as were many others. He truly did inspire the troops. Even more when his relationship with the Inquisitor was made public: no image pleased the masses more than the Inquisitor and his valiant knight, fighting for the helpless and restoring order to the world. For Leliana, allowing this to happen was a risk worth taking.

Of course, others like her, trained in the shadowy arts of spying and subterfuge, saw that something was amiss. When she questioned Iron Bull about him, all he said was: _He is not what you expected, right?_  with a wry smile. _You know what I mean, Sister?_

The Inquisitor herself knew that he was hiding something. She would never have discussed it with the Nightingale but Leliana saw, by the way Catherine answered her questions about him, that she was elusive and protective of her lover. Leliana was sure that the Inquisitor didn’t know everything about Blackwall’s past; Rainier had confirmed today that she was in fact oblivious of it.

And, slowly, reports affirming the sighting of the disgraced captain and fugitive Thom Rainier started to follow the Inquisitor’s every move on the field. Leliana connected the dots when her scouts were able to get a grip on a sketch of the man; add a beard, longer hair and years of harsh life and the result was unmistakable.

So she did her job of uprooting the rumors and controlling the information. But since Mornay had been found, the name Thom Rainier was appearing everywhere.

She could have done what Angélique had suggested. It wouldn’t be a first for Leliana and it would have made matters simpler. But a hunch restrained the Nightingale to act: she felt that, even if Rainier had lied about his name and his affiliation to the Wardens, he truly did believe in the rest. He was sincerely devoted to the Inquisition and to Lady Trevelyan. He would beyond doubt have laid down his life to protect others, as he did in the dark future; Leliana couldn’t just shoot him in the back and snuff him like a candle.

Many people would have to be silenced for him to remain in the Inquisition as Blackwall. He could continue to be useful to the cause but Leliana felt that it wasn’t her call to allow it. It would be up to him to decide to stay and to have their blood on his hands, if it comes to that. If he really believed in all the speeches he gave about honor, duty and sacrifice, he would desist and leave. She would then fulfill her promise and have a new identity forged for him.

For now, she could only wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall half-consciously read the report about Mornay’s capture and planned execution for the fifteenth time. His head was a mess. His stomach too: he had spewed all of his breakfast near the horses’ stalls, frightening some of their occupants in the process. He had planned to open the bottle of whisky he kept in his chest but concluded that it wouldn’t do any good to his head nor his stomach.

Blackwall knew in his heart what he had to do, and none of the options the Nightingale gave him could help him to achieve it. He owed it to the real Blackwall, who sacrificed his life for him so he could live and make a difference. He owed it to the Inquisitor, his love, who believed in him and made him want to be a better man. He owed it to himself, too: he couldn’t do another mistake that would cost an innocent his life or he would lose his sanity. He had to be a good man when it counts the most, and good man wouldn’t let an innocent like Mornay die in his place.

So he had to tell the spymaster that he had chosen a third option. He would take off all the artifices that made him Blackwall and deliver himself to the Orlesian authorities as Thom Rainier, to be judged and sentenced accordingly to the law. He had to do it before the sun set down and his love returned from the keep, so he doesn’t lose his nerve in her presence again.

The sun descended on the horizon. Blackwall took all the courage he could gather and started to walk toward the rookery.

Each step was more laborious than its predecessor, as if he was advancing in deep snow. When he entered the tower, it was as if every eye was on him. He slowly climbed up the stairs, half hoping that Sister Leliana wouldn’t be at her desk.

But she was there, as if waiting for him, not expressing any surprise at his arrival.

“So, _Blackwall_ , have you come to inform me of your decision?”

Her voice sent chills down his spine.

“Yes, Sister Leliana. I must refuse both of your offers, although I am grateful for your... consideration.” Blackwall lowered his eyes as well as his voice. “You see, I haven’t taken the name of Blackwall as a disguise only; the real Blackwall had intended me for the Wardens but his life was taken by darkspawns in an attack before we could reach Val Chevin. When I took his name, I also swore to uphold to it. And Mornay… He was a good man, following orders. My orders. I can’t leave him to meet his death and remain Blackwall. And to leave Skyhold and live under a new name? This name, and the Inquisitor, they are all I have left. I wouldn’t want a life without them.”

Blackwall glanced at the spymaster. Surprisingly, her expression seemed less cold than before. She spoke almost kindly to him.

“Then want to you intend to do?”

Blackwall sighed heavily. He had no choice but to be upfront with the spymaster if he wanted a safe passage to the Orlesian capital.

“I will go to Val Royeaux and present myself as Thom Rainier to the authorities. I hope it will be enough to have Mornay set free.”

The words felt like ashes in his mouth; Blackwall  knew that this would be a one-way trip. The fact that he had been the commanding officer when the massacre occurred would likely  subject him to be condemned to a traitor’s death. Many years ago, when he was still a young captain, he had witnessed this kind of execution in Val Royeaux. First, he would be drawn by horse to the place of execution and be hanged.  But instead of granting him the mercy of a quick death, the executioner would release him from the noose while he is still conscious, then proceed to emasculate and disembowel him. Blackwall remembered that the man he saw this torture inflicted upon still screamed at the top of his lungs after his guts had been pulled out and exposed. The screams only ended an eternity later when the executioner proceeded to behead him. All that in front of an ecstatic crowd cheering to a spectacle that happens only once a decade.

Leliana must have sensed the panic that was settling in him and guessed the thoughts that were causing it. As if she was trying to test his resolve, she affirmed plainly, “If you do this, you will be on your own. The Inquisition cannot be associated with this mess.”

Blackwall shook his head with despair. No,he couldn’t ask anything of the Inquisition. He had wronged it enough already with his mere presence. And the spymaster had know about him for Maker-knows-how-long. Maybe she already had to silence others in order to keep his secret hidden. And for what? He was nothing but a traitor and a murderer.  The Inquisition’s resources should never be used for the likes of him and no one should be killed to protect him.

“I know. Do what you must to keep the Inquisition clean but, please, avoid drawing more blood if you can. There has been enough death because of me.”

Leliana continued to study him, her eyes piercing his soul. “It can be managed. You’ll have to leave soon if you want to be in Val Royeaux in time.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning. I need to...” He was at loss for words, even if he knew what he had to do. _Oh, Catherine_.

“You need to tell the Inquisitor that you must leave to fulfill your Calling, and that she can’t follow you, while the fate of the world is at stakes.”

This lie would be the hardest to bear, but he had no better alternative. He was going to die anyway; he would at least let her believe that he died with honor.

“I will. I must take my leave, Sister Leliana. The Inquisitor will soon depart from the keep. ”

“Very well. One last thing, Rainier; you can leave knowing that the Inquisition has the means to keep the Inquisitor from harm. I will use all of the resources we have to do so.”

Blackwall stiffened at the use of his real name. But the words declared by the spymaster put a balm on the searing pain he felt in his heart.

“Thank you.”  

Blackwall left the rookery. The only thing he had left to do before meeting his fate was to break his lady’s heart.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to thievinghippo for beta-reading this chapter.

It was well past dusk when Catherine set herself free of Lady Josephine’s interminable lectures about the current state of the Orlesian nobility and its impact on the Inquisition’s cause. King Alistair had also sent an envoy to report on the integration of Redcliffe’s rebel mages into the organisation and Catherine felt obliged to answer his questions herself.

Relieved that the day was finally over, she went to her chambers to get rid of her formal wear and put on something more practical. Blackwall wasn’t there; he must still have been in his workshop in the barn, probably carried away in one of his projects.

Catherine smiled when she thought of her lover. _He is more than that,_ she told herself. In fact, he was more than she ever hoped for, and with the passing days she came to realise how much she needed him in her life.

When she was in the Ostwick Circle, she had experienced some fleeting flirts with other mages. A few had been more serious than others and had let to further development. All of it had always seemed fake to her; the rare men she bedded voiced quite clearly their incompatibility in the aftermath. Since the Circle was a closed environment inhabited by a limited number of people and where no escape was possible, she imagined that the break-ups had to be more civil than in the general population. Still, always being told that she was too much this, not enough that, did hurt her.  What can you answer to a man who calls you too affectionate, or one that affirms his preference for more vulnerable women? Hence she started to view herself as flawed and unworthy of a man’s love. But it was inconsequential anyway: if mages in a Circle were unofficially allowed to meet their physical needs, stable relationships weren’t encouraged by the Circle’s regulations.

But the Circles were destroyed now and her life had been turned upside down. Blackwall had been there almost since the beginning. First, a mentor to teach her of all the things she didn’t learn in the Circle. Then, a protector, a friend and a listener. Over time, of course, a man who had made her feel desired and loved.

Still, he had its _part d’ombre_ , as they said in Orlesian. A dark shadow lying heavily on his soul, giving him nightmares at night, sometimes showing under his mask of bravery and control during the day. Then there was the taint, lying in wait in his blood. Catherine had decided that, no matter what happened, she would be there for him as he had been for her.

At last, the Inquisitor pushed the great door of the throne room; surprisingly, the air felt hotter outside than into the keep. It had been one of those first spring days meant to tickle with the hope of summer. Until the end of the season, the temperature could drop again and bring the last snowfalls before summer finally sets in. Catherine had been inside all day but would at least make the most of the evening with her love. Maybe she could ask him for a walk on the battlements under the stars?

When she arrived at the barn, Blackwall was stoically standing in front of the hearth, arms crossed as he had the habit when something bothered him. It took a couple of heartbeats for him to notice her presence at his side. When he did, he turned his head toward her with a smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes.

“Why so serious, love?” Catherine asked with worry.

Blackwall sighed, his smile receding.  “It’s nothing.”

Of course, she didn’t believe him and didn’t have the intention to sweep this under the rug.  “Tell me what’s on your mind. You know I’m here for you.”

A sadness lingered  in Blackwall’s voice when he explained,  “I was thinking about when we went to the ruin. When we found the badge. Everything seemed clear then, like I could do anything with you at my side. Anything. That’s a hard word, you know. Means a lot.”

Catherine took his hand and brought it to her lips with a gentle kiss. “You, _Warden Blackwall_ , mean a lot to me.”

The words she wanted to comfort seemed to have the opposite effect; Catherine could see the distress in Blackwall’s eyes. She tried another strategy. “Would you want to go for a drink?”

Blackwall nodded. “Yes, I’ve a hankering for company.”

Without releasing his hand, she led him to the tavern. Catherine couldn’t see his expression in the dark but pictured him brooding since he was so silent.  As usual, Sera and Varric were hanging with the Iron Bull and his Chargers. Dorian was coming back from the bar with a dozen shooters of strong Orlesian liquor. When Sera noticed Blackwall and Catherine, she waved to them and shouted to come and join the group. _Maybe being amongst friends would lighten up his mood a bit_ , considered Catherine.

It was a habit they had, from time to time. Catherine didn’t drink much, sipping a gulp or two of Blackwall’s beer, pretending to be offended by Sera’s crude jokes, only to burst into laughter when she wasn’t able to contain herself anymore. Usually, Blackwall joined her with his rumbling laugh, pulling the Inquisitor against him; tonight, he kept quiet and still.

The tavern slowly emptied itself. Unexpectedly, one of Josephine’s aides appeared in the doorway and motioned to the Inquisitor.

“ _By the Maker_. That couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning? I am going to check what she wants and come back as soon as possible.”

“Okay Ladibits! I’ll take care of Broody here while you’re gone”, said Sera while biting at a spiced chicken wing.

Josephine had sent her aide to gather some signatures on diplomatic letters that had to be issued in the morning. Catherine obliged quickly and, with the state Blackwall was in, asked not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. When she re-entered the tavern, Blackwall was talking to Sera with a solemn air.

“Hey, what are you plotting, you two?” teased  Catherine.

“Nothing”,  said Blackwall.

Sera laughed. “Beardy wants me to take care of you if some high dragon eats him for lunch one day. I told him not to worry about that; he’s far too hairy for any dragon.”

Catherine looked at Blackwall with concern, her hands on her hips. She tried to conceal her worries  behind a joke. “Blackwall, let’s get out of here before Josephine sends someone else to kidnap me and drag me to her office.”

Blackwall gave her the smile with sad eyes again. “Sure, my lady. Just give me a few moments"

Once outside, Catherine decided they were sure to be interrupted if they headed for the keep. The barn seemed like a better option.

After arriving at the barn, she scolded Blackwall. “What was that with Sera? And being broody all evening?”

Blackwall explained gently, “Catherine, we have to face the truth; I am not worthy of you. There is no future for us with me as a Warden. I have been in the Order for a long time and...”

This was the moment she had feared. Head shaking in denial, she raised her hands and gestured him to halt. “Blackwall, stop this.  You don’t know the future any better than I do! And don’t tell me you have started to hear your Calling suddenly earlier today; you were fine this morning, and have been fine for a few weeks.”

Blackwall considered  her words. He slowly cupped her face with a tender grasp, his eyes in hers and his voice breaking down.  “Yes, you are right, my lady. But I am afraid that the more we allow this to continue, the hardest it will be for you to let me go. And one day, you will have to let me go.”

Tears started to stream on Catherine’s cheeks. She wasn’t ready to let him go, not now, not ever. Imagining a life without him drilled a hole through her stomach. Without further thinking, she told him, “I won’t let you face your Calling alone... I will come with you when the time comes.”

Blackwall let go of her, looking as startled as if she had punched him in the face, his voice trailing with anguish.  “No. I won’t allow it. Even if you weren’t the Inquisitor, even if what you were doing wasn’t so important for the fate of the world, I would want you to go on with your life and to find happiness. My lady, I will find peace if you give me your word.”

Catherine tried to contain the sobs shoving in her throat, with no success.  “You have my word, Blackwall.” She slowly calmed herself and looked at him in the eyes. “I don’t care how much time we have together; I want to cherish every day, every minute we have left. I love you so much. Please, let’s forget all this for tonight.”

Blackwall dried her tears with his gloved hands. He was solemn again when he spoke. “Then, for now, let there be nothing else, no one else. Just you... and me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine and Blackwall had kissed numerous times before and had made love so often that they knew each other’s body by heart. But this night was different. Blackwall knew that it would be their last and he wanted it to be hers. So he concentrated himself on his lady’s pleasure and didn’t allow her to return the favor. He put in use everything he had learned about Catherine over the months to please her, licking her just at the right place on her neck, telling the right words in her ear with a husky voice. Sucking at her tits while playing with her clit at the rhythm she enjoyed, just to bring her to the edge. Kissing her, suckling and biting, on her lips first, then on her wetness below. When she couldn’t take more and asked him to fuck her, _Blackwall, please_ , he gave her all that he had.

She achieved orgasm once, twice, thrice, before asking him to come in her before she faints. It took him some more time, shouting her name with desperation, before he could find release. When he finally did, he stayed in her for some time, shaking, holding her tight against him, afraid to let her go. Breathless, her body limp, she whispered in his ear, “Are you alright, love?”

Blackwall slid out of her and rested on his side, his hand stroking her hair.  He was far from alright but didn’t want to cause her disquiet. Not tonight. So he gathered his courage and tried to sound composed and charming. “Yes. Did you enjoy it?”

Catherine chuckled with a mischievous smile. “Enjoyed it? You treated me like a queen, Blackwall.  Tonight will be a memory that I will cherish.” Catherine yawned. “But next time, _I’ll_ take care of you.”

“Yes, my love.”

Catherine was already asleep. Blackwall got up to clean himself and get some blankets. He didn’t sleep that night but observed his lady resting on the hay covered in burlap and furs, her face lightened by the full moon above, replacing from time to time the blanket that she kicked in her slumber. He left before dawn with a heavy heart after having laid one last kiss on her forehead.

“Goodbye, love. I am so sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind had shifted during the night. Frigid air now hurtled down the mountains slopes and Catherine shivered, her skin covered in goosebumps. She had, as was her habit, kicked down her blanket out of the bed. Usually, in this kind of situation, she would innocently warm her feet against Blackwall’s and pretend to sleep when the gesture woke him, so he would get up to close the window, put some logs in the fireplace and the blanket back on her.

But she slowly realised that she wasn’t in her chambers, and that there wasn’t anyone beside her, only Blackwall’s badge. Remembering the events of the night and Blackwall strange behavior, panic flooded in, both burning and glacial. Dawn was slowly setting in and she had awoken naked and alone in a barn. Catherine didn’t remember where she had left her clothing, so she grabbed the blanket that was lying between two balls of hay to cover her nudity and shouted Blackwall’s name, hoping that the situation wasn’t what is seemed, that he had just left to go to the privy or bring back an early breakfast.

But there was no answer. After having finally retrieved and slipped into the clothes she had wore last night, her last hopes were shattered when she found the hastily written note pinned on the unfinished rocking griffon.

_There is little I can say that will ease this pain._

_Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would’ve hurt more if I stayed._

_I am deeply sorry._

She stumbled and fell on her knees. No. He couldn’t just leave in the middle of the night like a thief.   _He told me that I would have to let him go, one day. But he didn’t say that it meant this very day! Maker, I am not ready for this, I didn’t even say goodbye._

Catherine suddenly felt a presence at her side. It was the boy – spirit or demon, depending on the authority you based your opinion upon. She never was much at ease in his presence; even if he usually wasn’t able to hear her own thoughts, she felt like a voyeur when he laid bare the fears and hopes of her companions.

But today, she needed him.

“Distressed, alone, cold. Heart ripped-off by empty words on a crumpled parchment. Why did he have to leave like that?”

The words made Catherine cringe but she had to endure this annoyance if she wanted to have answers. “Thank you, Cole. That does describe flawlessly my actual state of mind. But I don’t understand. You said before that you couldn’t distinguish my thoughts?”

“Usually no, but today you’re screaming.”

“I imagine so. Now, can you tell me anything about Blackwall’s whereabouts?”

Cole stared at the empty space beside her for what seemed an eternity.  “He doesn’t want you to know. He doesn’t want you to hurt, but he knows you’re already hurt. That’s enough. He want’s you to forget him... Would that help, if you forget?”

Catherine sounded angrier than she intended. “No, Cole. It wouldn’t help at all. What is good for me is not necessarily what Blackwall thinks is good for me. Do you understand, Cole?”

Cole reflected on her words. “His head. So many tangles. Knots. And that's just on the inside.”

Catherine had to agree. “Indeed. And what do you make of theses knots? Is he hearing a song? A Calling?”

Cole nodded, his eyes lighting up with knowledge: “Yes, there is a song, it’s always there. _Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still, what do you see from the top of that hill? Can you see up? Can you see down?_ _Can you see the dead things all about town?_ “

Catherine was confused. Cole was always cryptic but never lying, being completely oblivious of the concept. “This is a song for children. That’s not the kind of thing I imagined darkspawns singing.”

“Yes, the children knew it.”

_Children, what children?_

“Pardon me, Cole, but you are not helping. I’ll go find Sister Leliana, her scouts must have seen him depart.”

Cole became agitated at the mention of the spymaster’s name. “Careful, the mask must be spotless when she observes in the dark. No missteps because she is the better dancer. Maker, no! She knew...”

Catherine grabbed Cole by the shoulders and shook him harder than she intended. “What did she knew, Cole?”

Cole face was distorted by pain. After a long time, he only whispered three words. “Hurts too much.”

Catherine sighed and released him. “Thank you, Cole.”

Whatever happened that made Blackwall leave didn’t have anything to do with is Calling. And there was someone, probably already awake and feeding her crows, who knew what is was.

  



	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks to my beta-reader thievinghippo for helping me with this chapter.

 

Catherine always felt that anger was an easier sentiment to manage than sorrow or fear. If controlled and well directed, it had at least the potential to be transformed into productive action. _But don’t let it turn into rage_ , she remembered her mentor telling her before her Harrowing.  

She wished the old enchantress was with her now, for Catherine never had been angrier in her entire life. She headed toward the spymaster’s rookery, her brisk walk almost a run. Her vision had tunneled and her heart pumped fast. It would be hard to stay focussed but Catherine knew she had no choice if she wanted to confront the Nightingale.

Once inside the rookery, Sister Leliana was already there as Catherine had presumed, writing reports. She put on her usual veneer of calm and told Catherine formally, “You are early this morning, Inquisitor.”

“I believe that you can inform me of the whereabouts of our fellow Grey Warden. Blackwall.” This was not a question but an affirmation Catherine lashed in a imperative voice.

“I have been informed that he spent the night with you, faithful to his habits. Before dawn, he passed the gates on Grey Warden business.”

 _No missteps because she is the better dancer_ , Cole had roamed about the Nightingale. Indeed, she was probably one of the best players of the Game in all of Thedas, and could lie as well as she breathed.  But Catherine didn’t have any patience today for subtlety. She told Leliana, with false courtesy, “Since it is your job to monitor all the people I have close _interactions_ with, I assume that you know exactly what this business consists about?”

Leliana smiled at her and used the tone and expressions of someone gently scolding a young child. “Inquisitor, the Grey Wardens are secretive. Remember that I have traveled with the Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair during the Blight; I know their kind. If Blackwall didn’t trust _you_ with this information, I doubt he would have trusted anyone else. And there are more pressing matters than our dealings with the Wardens now, so I didn’t investigate this any further.”

Catherine couldn’t believe that the spymaster didn’t have answers when she needed them most. When the spymaster was introduced to her, Catherine had wanted to test her abilities. To do so, she had the idea to ask Sister Leliana to make a complete profile of herself, thinking she has nothing to hide.  It took the Nightingale a few days, which was surprisingly fast given the fact that the Circles were destroyed and that mages were scattered across the continent. But the profile the spymaster provided was complete: the classes Catherine taught, her habits, the names of her closest friends in the Circle... That was impressing. The Inquisitor found it less funny when, a couple of months later, Leliana had been able to grab a copy of some bad poetry she wrote when she was nineteen. Only the Maker knew how she had been able to get her hands on the only thing Catherine was ever ashamed of having done.

Breaking the glance she exchanged with the spymaster, Catherine tried to compose herself, adopting the stance she used when lecturing her students in class; back straight, hands moving to emphasize her words, eyes fixing a point in the room and making sporadic contact with her interlocutors to see if they understood her explanation.  “Sister Leliana, remember that I am at the head of this organisation. If I have allowed you to keep your position when I was named Inquisitor, it’s because I trust your competence blindly. But today, you are making me doubt this decision.” Catherine tone changed and became colder. “ If you can’t find answers to my simple request, it will dent the trust I put in you, and I can’t afford that. I will have to ask you to step down as spymaster.”

Leliana stood up slowly, hands still on the table. In the process, she dropped her usual mask of coldness and control. Her eyes could have killed. “It’s not your call to make.”

“Oh, but I think it is. I am the Inquisitor. And I will not keep you as my spymaster if I can’t trust you.”

Leliana laughed with her crystalline voice. “ _Trust_. How ironic. If the matter is of so much importance to you, I will have my best scouts and spies investigating it.”

Catherine dropped the mask too. In the past, she had been afraid of the spymaster. She was still, but knowing that her love’s life might be in danger gave her heart. Before she left the rookery, she wanted to show the Nightingale how determined she was. “I know that there’s more to it, Leliana. If I learn that anything, _anything_ , happened to Blackwall that could have been prevented by information you withhold from me, I swear by the Maker that you will lose your position. You know where to find me when you’ll have something to tell me.”

After that, Catherine bursted out of the rookery without leaving Leliana the time to answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angélique never saw Leliana angry and unsure. The spymaster paced back and forth behind her desk, hands hidden in her long sleeves. “There’s a change of plan, Angélique. The Inquisitor is aware of our involvement. She is strong-willed and feels scorned; the Maker knows what she could do on a whim. How can we circumvent this?”

Angélique felt that the spymaster was asking for her opinion. “Our spies informed me that Rainier left the Inquisitor in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. Had he kept his part of the bargain and left her properly, we wouldn’t have to fix this mess up.”

“You are right. He didn’t fulfill his part of the bargain, so we don’t have to fulfill ours. The Inquisitor will turn every stone in Thedas to look for him. We can’t afford to lose time like that. We just have to lead her to him so she can see what he really his and drop the matter definitely.” Leliana sat at her desk, determined. “Angélique, take a parchment and rewrite the report about Mornay’s arrest and execution as best as you can remember. Give it to one of our greenest recruits and order him to transmit it to the Inquisitor. He will have to tell her that we found it in Blackwall’s quarters and that it is our only lead.”

Angélique nodded. The spymaster's plan seemed logical. Having studied the Inquisitor profile thoroughly, she knew there was no way Lady Trevelyan could forgive Rainier’s past deeds.  “Fine, consider it done.” And she left hurriedly.

Leliana was alone at last to ponder about the situation. _So, Rainier, you left me to do your dirty work. Once a coward, always a coward. But this time, you will pay._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a last bend of the road, Blackwall could distinguish the spire of the Orlesian style chantry above the tree line. Bellefeuille-sur-la-rouge, the last village before Val Royeaux, named after the oak forest surrounding it, and the river near which it was built; its muddy waters a reddish color as was the soil covering the region.

In another life, his first stop would have been at the local tavern. It wasn’t as fancy as anything you could find in Val Royeaux, but they served fine local ale and a solid version of _boeuf-miroton_. The atmosphere was also more relaxed, the masks rarer and the local folks friendlier than their city counterparts.   His next stop would have been to the brothel across the street. Here again, the women weren’t as fresh and refined as the ones offered in the capital, but they were good enough to satisfy most men’s appetite, sometimes even his. But this evening, after having left his horse in the stables of the inn where he would stay for the night, his feet dragged him in an unsuspected direction, namely the local chantry.

Not that he was a particularly devout man before that, but his station required him to assist to a number of ceremonial events. Not a month went by without a marriage, a funeral or one of the many’s Andrastian holidays. And, each time, the Captain felt the blazing glare of the Maker upon his sinful self.

After the massacre, he avoided chantries like the plague, almost believing that he would burn on the spot if he entered one of them, instead finding solace in cheap wine and cheaper whores.  After that, his dedication to the Wardens had a religious tint to it, as he realised now.  He was a total wreck when the real Blackwall found him in that tavern all those years ago. He had shared his company for only four days, but they had been life-changing. At first, the prospect of having his crimes erased had appealed to him, but soon it became more than that. On the way to Val Chevin, the Warden-Constable lectured him about honor and sacrifice. Maybe if these words had been empty, the impact wouldn’t have been as profound on him. But it wasn’t the case; on the second day, they encountered a small merchant caravan that had been ambushed by bandits. Blackwall charged without a second thought, ordering him to follow. With their combined skills, they were able to vanquish the five or six men rapidly. Once the merchants were safe, the Warden-Constable didn’t ask for anything in return and refused any form of payment. _At the heart of it, all a Warden is, is a promise. To protect others... even at the cost of your own life_ ; was the only explanation he gave him, when they were alone again.

There had been no nightmares to torment Thom’s sleep that night, as if the good deed he had done earlier in the day had lifted some of the guilt that had been eating him up inside since the massacre. Before that, only large quantities of alcohol could have done this, and brought even more painful mornings. A way to redeem himself, a fresh start, were the things the real Blackwall offered him on a silver platter, he then realised. This was his only chance,his last chance, and he thought it lost on the fourth day when Blackwall sacrificed himself to save his wretched life. But the need for redemption was too great, as was the fear to have it refused, so he took his name and became him. The words the Warden-Constable had preached turned into the prayers that he repeated to himself every day. He helped where he could, and it felt good. At the end, he had changed, and Thom Rainier was relinquished to the shadows.

However, even as Blackwall, he never could truly reconcile himself with the Maker, and he was still too ashamed and afraid to enter His House. But tonight might be his last and it had to be done. So he sat, in the last row in the back, his hands resting palms up on his knees, head prone on his chest. His mind was too baffled to remember any prayer. Instead, he begged for forgiveness, for each person he wronged in his life. He begged forgiveness from his parents whom he abandoned soon after he won the Grand Tourney. He didn’t leave them a copper of the prize he was bestowed and never came back to their flat in Markham, not even when they died a few years later, two months apart. He begged forgiveness for the hearts he broke, the trusts he abused, the lies he weaved, the lives he destroyed. For the children he had ordered to be... killed. For what he did to Catherine. And he begged the Maker to look after her, even if she didn’t believe in Him.

Blackwall lifted his head when he heard footsteps in the alley. His outlook must have alerted one of the Sisters, eager to help any lost soul to find the Light. She approached him now, smiling kindly in the distance. Blackwall swiftly stood up and walked to the exit. His confession was for the Maker only. Having done what he came for, he headed for the room he had rented at the inn.

There was one final chore to do before the morrow. The last thing he wanted was to drag the Inquisition’s name, Catherine’s name, into the mud. His only chance to avoid that was to present himself as Thom Rainier to the authorities and shed the disguise he had worn for so many years.

When he left Skyhold, one of Leliana’s scouts had trailed after him to give him a package prepared by the spymaster herself. When he opened it, on his first night on the road, he appreciated the thoughtfulness of the Nightingale. Everything he needed was there: new clothes, scissors, a razor, soap, a comb, and even a perfectly fitting hooded cloak.

The package was now opened on the rickety bed he doubted he would fall asleep in tonight. Blackwall wanted to get the job done before the last light of the evening faded. So he brought the soap, the scissors and the razor to the nightstand where a basin of water waited for him.

Looking at himself in the broken mirror on the wall above the nightstand, Blackwall recognized the fear in his eyes. Before the day was over, it wouldn’t be Blackwall but Thom Rainier that would glance back at him. He hoped that his mind could take as much and stay focussed until he gave himself up tomorrow.

First, he got rid of his gloves and his gambeson. He had bought the vest second-hand on the first day he was on the run, to hide his muscular and recognizable frame. It had always been too tall for him and made him look much more corpulent than he was. Letting it drop on the floor, Blackwall fondly remembered Catherine’s surprise the first time he removed it in front of her, on their first night together. _I was expecting a chunky teddy bear_ , she told him with a lusty smile, her hands wandering over his torso, _not the bearded replica of a Tevinter god of war_.

It had made her feel insecure; afraid to expose herself to him. He had made her understand that he prefered women with curves. When she accepted to denude herself, she was all that: delicious curves, full breasts, rounded ass...

Maker’s Balls. He wouldn't be able to accomplish anything tonight if he continued to let his thoughts wander like that. And he didn’t deserve to think of his lady this way anymore, not after leaving her like he did. She had been his light, so good, so pure; at the end, he had been a monster to her and made her love a lie. So Blackwall took the scissors and started to cut his hair first, his beard after, finishing it with the razor.

When everything was done, it wasn’t Blackwall that stared back at him in the mirror. But it wasn’t Thom Rainier either. He hadn’t lost all of his good looks that had helped him to get into so many noble ladies’ beds in the past, but he looked older than the Thom Rainier he remembered, and _fucking_ tired. Worn-out. The absence of beard seemed to emphasize the dark rings under his eyes and the ashen tint his skin had turned into. He almost hadn’t slept since he left Skyhold six days ago. The wish to be over with all of this now replaced the fears he had about tomorrow’s predicament.

Blackwall – no, Rainier – gathered his old clothes and armor and bundled them in the wrappings used by Leliana. He would tie them to a stone when he departs and throw them in the river nearby. His time as Blackwall was over now; his time as Rainier was coming to an end soon. For now, all he wished was to have one last good night’s sleep. **  
**


	21. Chapter 21

Catherine never much enjoyed riding on horseback; there was a sense of danger to it that she didn’t appreciate. Had she been able to leave Skyhold sooner, a coach would have been more to her liking. But time had been in short supply. When Leliana’s scout informed her of the report found in Blackwall’s trunk, her first idea was to go ask the spymaster to send her agents after him and bring his sorry ass back to Skyhold. There was only one direct road to Val Royeaux; he shouldn’t prove himself so difficult to find by the professionals Sister Leliana had trained.

But Catherine decided not to do anything of the sort. Considering the way he left, she doubted that Blackwall would have followed the scouts willingly. The outcome would probably have been a direct confrontation, which she preferred to avoid. As the Inquisitor, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if men under her command got injured while executing a personal request; of course, she didn’t want Blackwall to get hurt either. Besides, she didn’t trust her spymaster anymore. How could the Nightingale think her so naive to believe that a man like Blackwall, a warrior more known for his sheer force than his subtlety, could steal reports from the spymaster’s office?  Catherine’s best option would be to follow the only lead herself to find out what this was about. 

Urgent as the situation was, her position as Inquisitor didn’t allow her to leave Skyhold immediately. There were matters to attend to, reports to sign, and preparations to be made. When she could finally leave, with a minimal escort for speed sake, Blackwall already had half a day in advance. Her title and role never weighed more on her that at this moment; her responsibilities had to pass first, even before the most important person in her eyes. She anxiously hoped that the hours lost wouldn’t impact negatively on the situation’s aftermath. 

So they rode fast, passing one Orlesian village after the other, stopping only at nightfall. Cullen rode by her side and Catherine caught the worried glances he kept shooting her way. It was a rare sight, to see the Commander out of his office, and accompanying her on her travels. Even if they had, in the last year-and -a-half since the Conclave, built a cordial rapport, Catherine knew that Cullen didn’t offer to escort her himself in the sake of friendship. He probably felt her on edge, with anger, fear and pain building up inside, intertwining with her magic and threatening to burst. She accepted his offer without question; even if she was a trained mage, used to controlling her emotions and magic, she didn’t know what waited for her in Val Royeaux and felt safer with a competent ex-Templar near.  

Her anger was mostly directed at herself. She had been aware for a long time that something had been wrong with Blackwall. It was always there, a darkness lurking in him, coming and receding like the tides on Ostwick’s shores. Shadows appeared in his eyes that weren’t of the taint. Catherine had chosen to ignore her instincts and to leave Blackall’s secrets undisturbed, too much afraid to be shunned by him as he did so often and to finally lose the love he had for her. She was now paying the price.

At least, she wouldn’t be alone when the time came to confront him. Sera had insisted to come along, of course. On the night before he left, Blackwall had made his archer friend promise to protect the Inquisitor at all costs, if anything ever happened to him. Sera now seemed to be as angry as Catherine, continually proffering her usual gibberish curses, and would probably have punched Blackwall in the face if he appeared in front of her eyes. But she kept her promise anyway.

Catherine had also asked Cassandra and Cole to join them. She had begun, over the course of the year, to rely too much on Blackwall for her protection and felt naked and vulnerable without him. Of course, Cullen knew how to use a sword but he had been delegated to a desk job for quite a while. At least Cassandra still fought in the field from time to time. As for Cole, Catherine had brought him to take a peek in Blackwall’s thoughts and motivations, but his “talent” didn’t work that way.  _He never wanted me to ease his pain; he thinks he deserves it, and worse,_ was all he could tell her _._ Well, that didn’t help to ease her mind.

At last, after the final bend of the road, she could distinguish some lights between the trees. The sun had set a while ago, forcing them to travel in the dark. She had refused to stop at the previous village, fearing that they would arrive too late in Val Royeaux the next day. Now, they could find a decent inn to stay for the night and leave at dawn to be in Val Royeaux the hour after. Maybe they would be able to find Blackwall before Mornay’s execution and ask him a few questions…

But tonight, Catherine was as tired as the horses, given that they almost didn’t stop since the early morning. Once in her suite, she forced herself to eat some hearty soup and bread before falling exhausted on her bed without taking the care to get out of her travelling clothes. She had grown accustomed to travel since she was in the Inquisition, but never at this speed and intensity; her body ached from head to toes and there wasn’t anyone to offer her a massage tonight.  If she had believed in the Maker, she would have prayed that the Nightingale hadn’t thrown her on a false path and that she would find Blackwall tomorrow, alive and well. Since she didn’t have the Faith, the dreadful feeling that hung over her the last few days followed her in her sleep. Nightmares woke her up shortly before dawn, alone, cold and with a feeling of emptiness. She clinged to the minute hope that the next hours would bring answers to her numerous questions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_She was smiling and her greenish gray eyes contained all the love in the world. All of it for him. “Please, don’t leave me, Blackwall. Don’t leave me alone.” But he had to leave. He held her and her body turned to ashes that scattered to the winds, absorbing all the light that was left.  His name wasn’t Blackwall, and he was fated to break everything he touched._

One last good night’s sleep had been too much to ask. Again, he had awaken before dawn. Every regret he possessed had visited his slumber in the last few nights, sometimes more than once, leaving him panting and damp with sweat. It was fitting that this cycle ended with Catherine, since he had left her alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Thom started to doubt his decision; Catherine wasn’t only precious to him, she was the Inquisitor, and without her the world was literally doomed. She had needed him in the past, and  _Maker_ , it felt good to be needed. She still had many ordeals to face. Didn’t she have precedence over all the rest?

_Andraste’s tits, get a hold of yourself, you worthless scum._ Thom got out of his bed, lit a lamp and walked toward the nightstand; He poured water in the basin before splashing some of it on his face. The sensation provided by his shaven face still felt strange under his fingers. It was too late to go back to Skyhold now. Thom couldn’t live the lie anymore, couldn’t let Mornay down, and Catherine probably hated him for the way he had left, which was for the best. She deserved so much better than him. Lady Josephine would find her a suitor more appropriate to her station, hopefully a good and honest man, while her other counsellors would assure her security. The faster she forgot him, the best it would be for her.

With his resolve renewed, Thom put on the new clothes the Nightingale had gathered for him. They were of a fine quality, nothing a noble would wear but well enough for any  _bourgeois_. The cloak had a deep hood hiding most of his face, a detail he was thankful for. When he had finished dressing, he put some of the little gold he had left on the unmade bed for the maid’s tip, so he could leave his room knowing that he had brightened that person’s day. The rest he gave to the stable boy, a red-haired youth. Thom was pleased it was a different boy than in the evening to avoid any question.

Thom took the path to the old stone bridge where the Rouge River was calm and deep. He tied his horse to a post near the bridge’s entry and took the package containing everything that had linked him to his Blackwall persona; his old clothes, his gambeson, his armor… Everything except his sword, since he still had to arrive at Val Royeaux in one piece and the roads weren’t always safe.

He stayed there for a long time, in the middle of the bridge, the package tied to a small rock lying on the parapet. It was only when the first lights of the day appeared on the horizon that he found the courage to give it a push. Thom didn’t look back. He untied and mounted his horse before engaging on the old forest path. It wasn’t as direct as the main road but it was more bucolic, calm. Also, Thom had some time left before him; executions rarely begun before mid-morning. This way, he could pass his last hours as a free man undisturbed and, he hoped, at peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In spite of the rain, Val Royeaux streets were bursting with life. The city wasn’t exactly like Catherine pictured it before joining the Inquisition. In her books, Orlais capital was described as a romantic city, full of lights and music, of great art and architecture, where lovers kissed freely in the stone-paved streets. There was a little bit of that image to be found in reality but, as grandiose as the city was, Catherine found its inhabitants rather rude and obnoxious and its rhythm too fast for her taste. Furthermore, the social classes were much more well-defined here than in her home town. She remembered when her mother taught her, in her youth, to treat the common folks with respect and kindness.  _We all come into this world naked_ , had been her saying. Here, the masked nobles acted with a mix of indifference and disdain, of condescendence and spite toward their less fortunate counterparts. In this context, it gave great pleasure to Catherine, when she came to the capital, to stroll into its streets in full regalia but unmasked, and to keep her warmest smiles for the humble and the poor.

But no smile adorned her lips today and she was only wearing her simple travel robes. Her agents in the city had informed her earlier that Mornay’s execution was planned for noon. Scouts and soldiers stationed in Val Royeaux  had been informed earlier by crow to look for Blackwall but not to intervene; this order sent by Leliana had made the spymaster a little bit more trustworthy in Catherine’s eyes. It would still take much more for the Nightingale to earn Catherine’s trust again.

Having received many reports from Skyhold, Cullen retired to the Inquisition’s consulate to review them, leaving the Inquisitor with Sera, Cassandra and Cole as well as a handful of soldiers. During the entire morning, they paced the Summer Bazaar and its surrounding streets.

Catherine was glad to have Sera by her side. The archer’s vision was as keen as her language was foul; if the latter had made some noble on their path turn their head, she still didn’t see  _Beardy’s_ familiar face in the crowd. At midday, there was still no sign of Blackwall anywhere. If he was here, Catherine thought, Blackwall shouldn’t be that hard to spot. He was, after all, well-known by most of the soldiers of the Inquisition, having trained so many of them. Catherine turned to Cole for some answers.  “Do you feel him now, Cole? Is he in the city?”

Cole eyes searched the crowd. “There are too many voices, all talking and shouting at the same time. They are eager to see the hanging. It makes them forget their own pain for a while.”  

Well, executions were cathartics events, no doubt about that. Even so, Catherine couldn’t help but frown with disgust at the thought. “If we are to build a new order for this world, we will have to introduce less barbarous ways for the people to vent.”

Cassandra didn’t agree. “If the punishment is proportional to the crime, then justice must be done. Publicly, so that the people do not suspect foul play. The man that will hang today participated in a traitorous attack where four children were killed. He deserves to die and be judged by the Maker.” Catherine didn’t reply, even if she wasn’t a fervent of the death penalty.

Noon approached and there was a movement in the crowd. The prison doors opened, and two guards escorted a gaunt-looking man, followed by more soldiers and, judging by the hideous mask he wore, the executioner. The crowd booed and threw rotten vegetables at the prisoner who could barely put one foot before the other. He remained silent when escorted to the gallows and, as far as Catherine could see from where she stood, whispered one last prayer when the noose passed over his head.

 A masked soldier started to enumerate Mornay’s crimes and punishment. At the same time, Cole spoke with a strained voice. “They won’t let him pass without the name. A black wall to shield the self when the sky is rainier. He’s sorry.”

Catherine started to run toward the scaffold, shouting.  “Can anybody see him? Where is he?”

A man climbed up the steps of the scaffold. The crowd went silent, on edge; a rare sight in the capital. Catherine was shocked. She felt her legs weaken and the stone that lodged in her chest since the night he left grow even bigger. It was Blackwall standing there for sure but, having shaved, cut his hair short and wearing clothes she never saw before, the man she loved was barely recognisable.

Any doubt she had vanished when he started to talk. “This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake.”

The soldier replied, “Then find me the man who gave the order.”

Blackwall’s eyes found Catherine in the crowd, filled with surprise first, then the deepest sorrow. It made her snap out of her stupor. She shouted his name. All eyes turned toward her; she had been recognized.

She kept her eyes locked on his when he confessed, “No, I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.”

He finally looked away, his face as hard as stone. “I gave the order, the crime his mine. I am Thom Rainier.”

Catherine’s vision blurred.  _Thom Rainier._ She remembered reading the name on the parchment that led her to Val Royeaux.. Was this real or a nightmare conjured by some fade demon? How could the strong, kind and compassionate man she loved and this felon be the same person? How could she have been so blind?

Catherine turned on her heels, fast, searching for a way to escape the crowd. Sera grabbed her by the hand and brought her to a small, deserted alley. Catherine found a stone wall to lean against and slid to the ground, with Sera still by her side, massaging her back and hushing kind words. Catherine was breathing hard and shaking, but unable to cry. With all the turmoil that was building inside her, she feared to lose control while no Templar was near.

It took Catherine what seemed like an eternity to regain her wits. First, she wanted answers. Her voice was flat when she asked, “I think I lost the course of the events. What happened to  _him?_ ”

Cole answered first. “He’s angry, and sad. You shouldn’t have been there.”

Cassandra lashed furiously. “He was taken to Val Royeaux prison. The bastard was lying to us all this time. To you. A shame they didn’t execute him on the spot!”

“Cassandra!” snapped Catherine, “I would also like to bust his ass right now, but I have questions for him first. So get to Val Royeaux prison and use your influence to make sure he’s not executed today. The rest of you will accompany me to the consulate. Sera, I don’t want to be seen, so guide us through the back alleys. Let’s go.”

She was still light-headed when they helped her get back on her feet, and her robe was stained by the mud covering the alley. All this was a mess, a horrible mess for which she wasn’t prepared at all. Catherine had the intention to go question  _Rainier_  byherself, but this time she would order Cullen to come.The Fade was leaking through her, creating sparks of lightning beneath her skin, while her Mark pulsed as fast as her beating heart, glaring brightly in the cloudy day. It wouldn’t help the Inquisition’s relations with Orlais if she destroyed the entire neighborhood by accident. With all the rage and sorrow she felt, it took her all of her willpower not to do so on her way to the consulate. Once there, she should feel safer and be able to evaluate the situation, carefully.


End file.
